Lost Boy
by harrypanther
Summary: An impulse decision by Stoick has him rescuing a desperate boy from slavery and shame who bears an uncanny resemblance to his long-dead wife. But will this lost boy be accepted on Berk where some have much to lose? Contains References to non-consensual sex and prostitution.
1. Chapter 1: Nowhere else to go

**A/N: How to Train Your Dragon remains the property of Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.**

 **I am aware the concept of Hiccup not being raised on Berk has been done before but I thought I'd have a go since it presents an interesting light to explore Berk society from an outsider's viewpoint. It also gives me a chance to explore a more sympathetic Stoick than my previous takes on this character.- Enjoy**

 **Warning: References to non-consensual sex and prostitution.**

 **One.**

It was even colder than he had expected, his breath coming in freezing clouds, and he had run out of places to shelter. He glanced up, green eyes squinting in the gloom and wrapped his arms tight around his skinny shape. He was shivering but there was nowhere he could go. His previous haven had been taken by another vagrant, a man who had beaten and kicked the boy as he had tried to share the warm little niche behind the bakery and driven him away.

The boy briefly touched his bruised cheek. He had taken far worse beatings but none had depressed him more as he realised he would be facing the cold. Last night, he had not slept at all, instead curling up in doorways until he was driven away and then walking as he got too cold. Now, he was exhausted and numb. He hadn't eaten for over two days either and his stomach felt hollow and was hurting. There was no casual labour to be had: he was penniless. He may well freeze to death before morning.

A large shape barged him aside with a mouthful of obscenities and he stumbled and slammed into the side of a shop. His hand flung out to protect himself and he hissed as a jagged edge sliced into his hand. He gripped the injury as the man barged by, ignoring the skinny boy he had jostled.

"Sorry for knocking you aside," the boy muttered sarcastically as he gripped the cut and the man turned, his bloodshot eyes angry. He advanced on the skinny shape and the boy saw him with a start and backed away. "Hey..." he protested but the man swing at him and though he caught a glancing blow, it was enough to have the boy down, his scrawny shape slamming hard against the wooden wall and knocking the breath from him. Instinctively, he curled up to protect himself, a little huddle of messy auburn hair, stained green tunic and ripped brown leggings, breathing hard in fear. The drunk kicked at him again then staggered off, leaving the boy to raise his wary green eyes and rub the hip that had taken the brunt of the kick. He gripped his hand until the blood stopped and he scrambled painfully to his feet.

He tried to slow his breathing but he was kicking himself: _never annoy a drunken Viking._ He reminded himself angrily. _You are lucky he only kicked you._ He glanced warily around-it was getting later and the ale houses by the docks would be full. He had tried them all, looking for work or warmth but he had been driven off every time. In a port teeming with people, he was very alone. And he had to be careful: if they saw his brand, they would send him back and he may never escape the chains and whips a second time.

He ducked back as a couple of guards walked by. He didn't want to be jailed again either: he guessed it would be a bit warmer but last time, he had nearly been uncovered. He watched the guards walk on with relief. And then he sighed. He could barely feel his hands now, he was dizzy from lack of food and aching from the blows. The nights were long and he didn't doubt dawn would reveal his frozen corpse if he did nothing. He had one card left to play, the one choice he had found unpalatable until death came knocking. He swallowed: Pride and Honour meant nothing to a corpse.

So he reluctantly wrapped his arms around his freezing frame and began the trudge up the hill to the whorehouse.

oOo

The building was filled with light and noise and he hesitated at the back entrance for a very long time before his teeth started chattering. And then he chastised himself savagely: he was a Viking. He feared nothing.

He pushed the door open timidly and slid into the room. The damp warmth hit him like a body blow, almost taking his breath. He shuffled forward and then stopped, waiting for the steward to notice him. The man bustled in, giving orders and gesturing to the staff. And then he turned and saw the shivering boy.

"Get out!" he snarled. The boy grimaced and jumped forward, his eyes pleading.

"Please!" he begged desperately. "It's really cold and..."

"I don't care," the steward told him coldly. "Out!"

"I-I can h-help!" he pleaded.

"Got enough helpers." The boy was breathing hard, now, his eyes desperate. The man grabbed his arm cruelly and dragged the resisting boy to the door. The cold air on the threshold hit him like a slap to the face and he struggled. After even a few minutes of warmth, the prospect of a freezing night out was unbearable.

"I-I'll do _anything!_ " he blurted out and the steward paused fisting his hair. He dragged the boy's head back.

"How old are you?" he asked. The boy was thin and small. "Twelve?" The boy lifted his chin.

"Fifteen!" he said with some pride. The steward inspected him closer. Scrawny and thin, with messy auburn hair chopped haphazardly above the shoulders, bright forest green eyes and a pale face with a smattering of freckles and a nasty bruise to the cheek. The boy's expression was desperate and the man frowned: he recognised him.

"You look younger," he sneered. "You were here…what, six, nine months back? You asked for work then but thought you were too good to work here!"

"I'm sorry," the boy said urgently, his accent from the Archipelago. "I-I was wrong. Please…I will do _anything_! Just-just don't throw me out!" The steward pulled his head back further, watching the boy's thin throat working.

"Only people who work can stay here," the steward hissed. "Are you ready, boy?" The boy winced and nodded. The steward shoved him back into the room and he urgently scooted over to the fire, hugging his body close to the flames and trying to allow the heat to permeate his chilled shape. The steward nodded to a blonde woman. "Thora-see to him." The woman nodded as the steward went back to the main room and turned to the shivering shape. She planted her fists on her hips and inspected him closely with an unimpressed look.

"Guess you won't be stealing any of my customers," she told him brusquely. The boy glanced up and his cheeks flushed. She hoisted an eyebrow in surprise: was he _blushing_? She moved closer, her movements predatory, her hips rolling seductively. She was well-endowed, her top low-cut, skirt swishing enticingly round her ankles and her expression knowing. Her thick blonde hair was braided over a shoulder and her deep blue eyes were hard. "You look young,"she began. His eyes widened and he shook his head.

"Fifteen," he murmured. She frowned.

"Small for it," she noted. "You look nervous. Sundby will only keep you if _work_." The emphasis on the word made him realise sweeping the floor wasn't an option they considered _work_. He stared at the fire.

"Hopefully, there won't be many…customers…" His tone was shy. She frowned.

"You been with a man before?" she asked directly. He inspected the floor furiously and blushed. There was a tiny shake of the head. Her eyes narrowed. "A woman?" Another shake. "You're a _virgin_?" she asked him directly. He lifted his eyes and then gave a little nod. She stared him up and down. "Why?"

He looked up. The truth was that he was all out of options. Since his escape, he had used every talent he possessed. His abilities to read and write, his skills in speaking several languages, his talent at drawing, his blacksmithing experience…but there had been an issue when it came to physical ability. No one had been fooled when they clapped eyes on the boy that he would be any good at heavy manual work. So the ships had refused him as crew, the docks turned him down to unload boats, the shops and warehouses had laughed at him as he begged for work. And there was no one left who would employ him or who needed his skills. The only thing he had left to sell was his body.

"That or starving," he admitted slowly. He shrugged and she inspected him.

"Love, you don't want your first time to be with one of the drunken louts here," she suggested, a little more warmth entering her tone. "You're a shy lad, aren't you?" He gave a little nod, almost ashamed. She finally smiled. "Be careful. Let the girls look after you. There aren't that many who seek boys so you may be lucky." He gave a wary swallow.

"Hopefully," he murmured. She beckoned him and he reluctantly left his place by the fire. "What do I call you?" she asked. He gave an embarrassed shrug.

"Hiccup," he admitted. The woman burst out laughing and two others-both blonde and busty, looked over to her.

 _"_ _HICCUP?"_ she guffawed. "You realise that means…?"

"The runt of the litter," he finished dryly. "I may have been told once or twice. And that I suit the name." He sighed. Thora controlled herself and rummaged at the back, findings a lukewarm bowl of mutton soup and a hunk of black rye bread. She handed them to the boy.

"Get that down your neck," she told him and he took the food eagerly, his glorious green eyes lighting with hunger. He crouched by the fire and began wolfing the food, making her realise just how starving he was. The sounds of the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl sounded too quickly and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, suddenly feeling more human. Now he was warm and fed, he was starting to feel sleepy-but before his eyelids could grow heavy, he was handed a broom.

"Hey-you can sweep up back here for starters," a dark-haired girl told him. She looked about twenty with the easy confidence of an experienced whore. He grabbed the broom and began methodically sweeping the room. Once he had completed the room, he was dispatched out front to gather used goblets to wash and take round pitchers of ale. He kept his head down and answered all queries politely, even though he was feeling exhausted. A couple of Vikings nudged him and he dinked away, swiftly withdrawing to the back room with his empty pitchers and dirty goblets, deftly avoiding any encounters with prospective clients. Somehow, he managed to get through unmolested by closing time and he was allowed to sleep in the back room, by the fire. The girls were still coming down to get a drink and relax when they found him, curled by the fire, fast asleep.

oOo

The next morning, Hiccup woke early, his eyes wide and silently inspecting his surroundings until he recalled where he was. Silently, he sat up and looked around, then stared at the fire, which was nearly out. He stretched, stood up and looked for the wood pile to feed the fire. Once that was done, he swept the floor and timidly walked into the main front room.

The room had a wide fireplace, several tables with impressive carved chairs to each man felt like a Chief and benches for the whores to sell themselves to the customers. The floor was sticky with beer, the place was still littered with discarded goblets and there was an overturned table. The boy sighed: he really didn't want to join the staff and was far happier acting as a serf and dogsbody. So he was careful to clean out and relay the fire, take out the rubbish, wipe the tables and wash the floor. It was hard work but it needed doing and he hoped it would buy him another few hours or day of warmth and food.

When the women came downstairs, the main room was warm and clean and there was water warming over the fire in the back room for washing. The boy had fetched more wood and was sitting, waiting for orders. Thora and her blowsy, dark haired friend-who introduced herself as Ingrid-smiled at the boy and sat by him as he offered a wan smile. His bruised face was wary.

"Any suggestions what I can do?" he asked softly. Thora shrugged and helped herself to a mug of ale.

"Keep your head down, don't annoy Sundby and hope no one wants a boy," she advised. He sighed. He had realised from the last night that he was the only male 'employee' and so was in a vulnerable position. He gave a wan smile as the women who cooked for the whorehouse came in and began to prepare food. He stared at them politely: they were allowed to come and go but he strongly suspected he may not be granted the latitude. But at the moment, he had nowhere else to go and he had been on the brink of death. He would have to deal with the consequences when they arose-and pray to Thor they wouldn''t hurt too much. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Oh-and have a bath," Thora suggested. "Sundby won't want a grimy worker." Hiccup sighed and nodded-and then the steward arrived. He threw some obscenities at the women, barked at the cooks and then cast his eye on the boy.

"You didn't do any work last night," he accused the boy. Hiccup grimaced.

"No-no one was actually interested," he replied, his tone guarded. "So I did some tidying up as well." Sundby gave him an unimpressed look.

"If I wanted someone to tidy, I'd get a thrall!" he snapped. Hiccup flinched and bowed his head. The words were worrying him.

"I'm sorry, I just thought I should do anything to earn my food," he explained quickly. The man grabbed his stained tunic and looked at him with a sneer.

"No one will want to screw a dirty little urchin!" he sneered and ran his fingers through the dishevelled hair. "Though you may be pretty enough to get some interest with a scrub!" Hiccup swallowed nervously. He really wasn't keen at all in _any_ interest of the sort Sundby wanted.

"Is-is there somewhere I can have a bath?" he asked tentatively. The steward scowled at him for a long minute, then gestured to a small room off the back room. Hiccup felt himself shoved in-to find a tub, soap and a thin towel. The steward cast him a disparaging look.

"You have to bring your own water," he snapped and swept out. Hiccup turned warily back to the backroom and put another the pot of water over the fire to heat. Then he sat down by the fire, clutching his knees to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. The older whores stared at the boy and an older woman with brassy blonde hair and dark brown eyes flicked her gaze over the boy.

"Has he been broken in?" she asked directly. Thora looked at the boy and saw him close his eyes.

"Not yet," she admitted. "Sundby will see to him after he's cleaned up." Hiccup's eyes flicked up and his face adopted a horrified expression. She stared at him mockingly. "You think Sundby can't spot you're green as a new bride?" she taunted him. He rolled his eyes and stared at the ground.

"Great," he muttered. She frowned. There was enough spirit in him to work with but he seemed very shy and still a little innocent. She cringed inwardly because that residual innocence wouldn't survive.

"You knew this was going to happen," she reminded him gently.

"Kinda hoping it wouldn't," he admitted softly. His green eyes were definitely scared.

"Hiccup, you came here of your own accord and promised to do anything to stay," Thora reminded him flatly. "He will hold you to that. You run and he won't ever let you go. He'll send his runners for you and he'll bring you back. Cross him and he will _never_ let you go." The boy looked up, his gaze horrified.

"What?" he asked in shock.

"You work, you earn tips and if you're good enough, you'll earn enough to leave…if you want," Ingrid added, twirling a stray lock of her dark hair around a finger. "At least here, there is warmth and food. None of us will get good marriages..or any at all. We're not here because we have a family that cares. And Sundby makes sure we are properly treated by the customers."

Hiccup stared at the floor, clasping his left hand in his right. Both were trembling. That reassurance gave him no comfort.

"So I have to…or he'll drag me back and…anyway?" he said slowly. "How-how is that allowed?" Thora nodded.

"Look, lad-he'll take care of you, as long as you keep up your part of the bargain," she said soothingly. The boy grimaced.

"Don't remember making a bargain," he muttered.

"You promised to do anything," Thora reminded him sharply. "He could have thrown you out to starve." The boy sagged.

"That has its appeals suddenly," he murmured. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"Quit your whining, boy," she snapped. "You guys seem to get to like it and have a lot more fun once you get going!"

"Not really a fun person," Hiccup noted tonelessly. "But how-how did it suddenly become a prison?" Ingrid stared at him.

"It isn't, he just…protects his investments," she told him tartly. He frowned.

"And just what has he invested in me?" he asked sarcastically. "I've done enough menial work to earn a bowl of soup and a corner for the night." Thora have a grim smile.

"It's what he _will_ invest in you," she told him evenly. "The effort he'll put into training you."

"I'm prepared to make that sacrifice," he managed but she scowled.

"I'd lose the smart mouth," she advised him quickly. "He doesn't appreciate sarcasm, cheek or back-talk. He'll break your hide if you answer him back!" Hiccup winced: he was naturally sarcastic.

"The gods hate me," he clipped him round the head, seeing the steam coil above the pot.

"Get into the bath!" she snapped, nudging the boy with her boot. Miserably, he clambered up and grabbed the bucket of boiling water, a larger bucket of cold water and filled the bath until he achieved a comfortable temperature. Making sure the partition was closed, he stripped out of his filthy clothes and hopped into the water. When he was back at home, he had bathed every day and he had missed the feeling of being clean. But he was feeling very worried as he slid into the water and soaped his body.

He sighed and worked quickly. He was very self-conscious that he was thin and scrawny, that his back was scarred with whip marks and his chest had a brand that marked him as a slave. He scrubbed harder, trying to allow the warmth to seep into his bones and remove the chill of fear. And he couldn't come up with any sort of a plan. He couldn't get out of the port because no one would take him on their ship and he had signally failed to find a patron or employer in almost nine months. He really was on his last legs and his desperation had brought him to this. He scrubbed his face and ducked under, washing his hair quickly. He didn't need to be spotless, just remove as much of the grime as he could without giving Sundby the chance to see him naked. He knew his appearance wasn't actually going to drive anyone wild but the sight of his brand would condemn him to being either handed over to the guards or-worse-adopted as a slave by his current master. And Sundby didn't look like a sympathetic owner. He sighed then grabbed his tunic and leggings and washed them quickly, wringing them out and dragging the damp garments on after he had towelled his body dry. It wasn't the most sensible idea but he knew he would dry if he stayed close to the fire.

"You took your time."

He yipped and spun, seeing the steward eyeing him hungrily. The man was probably in his forties, his pale blond hair thinning and straggly, his face almost clean shaven with the tiniest tuft of a beard on his chin. His disconcerting eyes were a deep brown and he hooked his thumbs in the wide, shiny leather belt around his solid waist. His tunic was richly stitched and deep red and his boots were expensive and shiny. He was eyeing Hiccup scarily. The boy swallowed, running his fingers through his drying auburn hair and combing it off his face.

"I-I haven't bathed for a while," he admitted. "No real chance…" Sundby closed and grasped his arm and the boy stiffened, his skinny frame suddenly tense. The man's dark eyes inspected the scared face and leaned close, his beard brushing Hiccup's freckled cheek.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he murmured. The boy gave a false little laugh.

"Wha…? Me? I-I've been fighting them off…" He paused. "How could anyone resist all this raw Vikingness?" The man roughly caressed his ass and the boy froze, his eyes widening.

"So if I bent you forward and had you now, you'd know what to do and won't scream like a bride on her wedding night?" he sneered.

"I'm not saying I…with a man…erm…" Hiccup murmured, his mouth dry. Sundby grasped him tighter.

"Come with me," he said menacingly and the boy almost ran but the man's hand tightened his grip painfully. "Try to run and I'll have you brought back here and you will regret ever being born!" He boy's slender throat bobbed and his green eyes flickered with a hint of his old spirit.

"Y'know, some days I already do," he murmured as he was dragged away.

oOo

Thora was chatting with Ingrid and the brassy blonde-Gerda-when he finally returned. She didn't want to admit it, but she had been getting concerned: the boy had been gone over an hour and the stewards room, while secluded, had been noisy. Hilde and Agnes had both reported hearing noises and Thora, who had discovered her heart wasn't quite as hard as she had imagined, worried at what the boy had endured. They all knew Sundby was cruel and deliberate and he had ruthlessly broken in every whore in the place. Thora knew that he enjoyed the honour, though she was yet to find a worker who had. She just prayed the boy hadn't been hurt too much. But her heart sank as she watched him enter the back room. He was alone and his steps were very uneven and painful. They watched him slink painfully into the corner by the fire, his head down and breathing ragged. He found the smallest corner and sank down to sit with his legs clutched hard against his chest, buried his head in his knees and breathed raggedly. Gerda made a crude comment and Thora watched the boy's shoulders freeze, then start to jerk in a slow, rhythmic motion: he was sobbing. Ingrid joined in the ribbing and Thora felt herself wince at the words.

"I see Sundby rode him hard," Ingrid added.

"Always does. He likes his boys loose and compliant."

"Ulrika said she could hear the boy begging."

"Hope it was for more. Sundby always enjoys mornings more than any other time. Always has more energy and staying power. If you know what I mean."

"Meaning the boy is open for business?"

"Hah! Sundby would have sold him last night if anyone had asked, virgin or no. As long as they pay and they don't kill or maim or run over time, they can do what they want."

Hiccup lifted his tear-streaked face, his wide green eyes filled with pain and fear.

"You were wrong," he said quietly to Thora. "Wasn't fun." He swallowed painfully. As she looked, she saw a developing bruise on his cheek and the fear in his eyes.

"You'll get used to it, love," she told him gently, ignoring the continuing taunts of her friends.

"I hope not," he murmured into his knees.

"It gets easier with time," she assured him. "You learn to treat it like a job, not…a special act." He wrapped his arms harder around his legs.

"Wanted it to be special," he murmured, feeling that dream slip away from his worthless fingers, as all the others had. "And with a girl. Not as some old man's…toy." Then he flicked his gaze up and stiffened in fear as Sundby walked cheerfully in. "Or his," he added fearfully. The steward walked up to the boy, grabbed his hair and dragged him to his feet. The boy desperately grasped his hand to ease the agonising pull on his scalp and he felt himself almost pulled to tip-toes. The steward roughly began to stroke the boy's waist and then dropped his hand to the boy's ass. Hiccup tried to jerk away but the steward tugged harder and he whimpered.

"Keep still!" Sundby sneered. The boy froze and his eyes looked trapped. "If you don't do some work this evening, I will be unhappy and if I get unhappy, I'll make damned sure you feel as unhappy as I do." Hiccup swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

"I-I understand," he whispered. "I-I'll try." Sundby shoved him back and glared at him, then snarled at the boy to get some more water from the well. And, sore as he was, Hiccup hastened to obey him because he would have done almost anything to get away from the man at that moment. But as the cold air hit him and he dragged the empty bucket to the well in the yard, he knew one thing for certain: he was going to do his damnedest to avoid the kind of work Sundby expected.


	2. Chapter 2: Not your business

**Two.**

Stoick the Vast, Chief of the small Viking island of Berk, strode through the docks and scowled at the sailors who swarmed in his way. Named 'the Vast' for very obvious reasons, a six foot nine, four hundred pound warrior usually has little problem in crowds and Stoick was no exception. He adjusted his bear-fur cloak, shifted the sword at his hip and strode on.

Berk-twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing To Death i.e. in the absolute middle of nowhere-was one of the most remote of the northern islands of the Barbaric Archipelago, a violent place where Vikings fought dragons and it was kill or be killed. As Chief, he led a trading trip every year to the port on the mainland, accompanied by a selection of his elders. They traded wood, weapons and wool. He laughed: Berk wool was hard and tough-like the inhabitants-but, by the gods, it was hard-wearing and had a market in wear for guards and soldiers. Stoick always drove a hard bargain and always rotated who he brought on the trips so his elders all felt valued. But this year, he was accompanied by his best friend, Gobber the Belch, blacksmith of Berk-and his brother Spitelout, as well as his heir, Spitelout's son Snotlout.

Stoick stared up the hill in the port. His own wife had died in childbirth and his son had been stillborn. The Chief had never remarried so his brother's son would inherit the throne once he was gone. Snotlout wasn't especially bright but was arrogant and overbearing-an ideal viking. And at least he _looked_ like a Viking, with his powerful frame and handsome face. Stock sighed: he often wondered what his own son would have looked like, had he lived. He guessed the lad would be the image of his father: tall, muscular with flaming red hair and grey-green eyes. Then he shook himself: the boy's lifeless corpse had burned with his wife on her funeral boat. Stoick would be the best chief he could be but he would die alone.

There was a commotion ahead and the Chief turned to see the sailors and visitors parting as a shape sprinted through. There were shouts and curses as a slight figure sprinted forward, looking over his shoulder for pursuit-and then he collided with Stoick. The Chief barely noticed but for the fugitive, it was like hitting a _house._ Stoick looked down as the boy bounced off and landed on his rear on the floor, staring up-and up-at the imposing shape with the horned helmet, the flaming red hair and the enormous braided red beard. The dress, the appearance told the boy the huge man facing him was from the Barbaric Archipelago. The cool eyes inspected the skinny boy at his feet and he frowned.

The boy was panting hard and already scrambling to his feet. There was a bruise on his pale, freckled cheek and his auburn hair was wild. His wide, forest green eyes were filled with fear. He stared up at the Chief and glanced over his shoulder. The sounds of steps were closing and there was no way past Stoick.

"Help me!" he breathed urgently. "Please? They want to take me back!"

Stoick stared at him, his eyes bulging. A cold sweat stood out on the back of his neck. The pleading green eyes widened with desperation.

"PLEASE!" he begged. "Please…they want…they want to…" He swallowed and there was real fear on his face. "I will do _ANYTHING…_ " He paused. "… _ALMOST_ anything," he amended. "Please-take me with you!"

"You…you don't know where I'm going," Stoick told him in a hoarse voice.

" _Anywhere_ is better than here," the boy told him honestly, his eyes swivelling in terror in his head. "I can work. I don't eat much. I don't take up much room. I…I really need your help. Please, get me out of here. They wanna take me back to the whorehouse and I…" His expression finished the sentence even as hands grabbed his skinny shoulders and hauled the boy back. " _Please!"_

"You aren't going anywhere!" a rough voice snarled and two burly men hauled the boy back. He was struggling but their grips looked bruising and Stoick watched them manhandle the boy back and slap him hard across the face.

SLAP!

"What did you say to him?"

SLAP!

"You knew what would happen if you ran!"

SLAP!

"And you ran from your client, boy! Sundby was _very_ angry!"

SLAP!

"He's going to have to punish you!"

SLAP!

"Excuse me…" Stoick began and the man delivering the slaps turned back from the sagging boy. His face was hostile but he backed down a little when he realised just how huge and ferocious the Viking behind him was.

"This… _slave_ …ran from his owner," he replied sneeringly. "He's a wilful one and we had tried to be gentle but now…he's going to have to learn the hard way!"

SLAP!

"And believe me, boy-you ain't gonna like the the hard way!" the man sneered at the sagging boy, his cheek scarlet with the blows and his eyes bleary with the impacts.

"'m not a slave…" he murmured painfully. The man grabbed him round the throat and tore away at his tunic. The brand was obvious on his white skin. The boy closed his eyes for a moment and looked up with utter shame at the big man before him. His eyes were shining with misery and his lips moved in a final, soundless plea. " _Help me."_

Stoick watched the skinny shape as he was dragged up the road. The Chief watched the boy until he was hauled from sight. And then he shook himself because he was feeling utterly unnerved.

 _The boy was the image of his dead wife._

He blinked hard. Not an exact image, of course: the boy was skinny and slight, battered and bruised but he had his wife's auburn hair, the exact wide forest-green eyes and almost the same shaped face. It was impossible, of course, but the image of the pleading boy, of his bowed and defeated shape, taking the harsh blows almost silently kept rerunning through the Chief's brain all evening and the next day. He was quiet as Snotlout boasted about the bearskin his father had bought for the cloak he would need for his duties as Stoick's heir and he tried to smile as Gobber regaled him with the tales of how he had driven the most astonishing bargain for a pile of high grade iron and precious metals for the island. Gobber stared at him.

"…and I have bought yer a rotting fish for yer next birthday, right with yer, Stoick?"

"Mmm, yes, excellent," the Chief said distantly. Gobber clouted him on the shoulder and caused him almost to spill his ale. "What?"

"Yer've not heard a word I said!" he complained. The Chief looked up and dragged himself back to the present.

"You got a great deal for high quality iron and copper, Gobber," the Chief told him.

"And…"

"I met someone last night," he murmured. Gobber's blue eyes sparkled and he eased into the chair by his friend. His long braided blonde moustache swung as he grinned.

"A lucky lady?" he said, nudging the Chief. He had only been dropping broad hints for fifteen years! Stoick glanced up.

"Not as such," he admitted.

"Then who…?

"It's not actually like that, Gobber, and it's a boy!" the Chief snapped.

Gobber dropped his ale.

"Stoick…I never guessed that you…I mean you…"

"GOBBER!" the Chief snapped. "He was a kid, running from his…owners…" Gobber frowned at him.

"He's a slave?" the blacksmith said quietly.

"The boy was terrified," the Chief said softly. "And he had her eyes, Gobber. He had my wife's eyes.." The blacksmith rubbed his forehead with his real hand and sighed.

"Yer should've taken another wife," he said gently but Stoick's eyes hardened.

"There was never anyone but Val," he said stubbornly. "But that boy has her eyes, her hair…and he was begging me for help." Gobber stared at him with a roll of the eyes. He knew his friend well and there was an odd inflection in his gruff voice that suggested he wasn't going to let this lie.

"I suppose nothing I can say will actually make a difference, will it?

"Not a word," the Chief told him.

"Good," Gobber said absently. "Be careful. This boy is clearly trouble. It's not your business!" Stoick rose and jammed his helmet on his head.

"No, it's not," he said as he rose and stomped up the hill.


	3. Chapter 3: Everything is for sale

**Three.**

He knew the whorehouse. Everyone who visited the port did. Stoick was a man without a wife and sometimes, buying affection where company was needed to ease his loneliness for a while. So it wasn't a stretch to walk to the building as dusk fell and enter, as so many others did. He took a seat in the front room and accepted the pitcher of mead, then scanned the room. The decor was rudimentary: wooden walls with shields and plates; the small windows shuttered; woven rugs on the floor and high-backed wooden chairs and benches by the small tables. Ale and mead was plentiful and the lamps and fire kept the room warm and just bright enough. The women were clean and professional-looking as they lounged on the benches waiting for clients but the shape he sought amongst them was absent. After a pause, where he seemed to be weighing his options and privately debating how much he actually wanted to do this, he gestured to the steward and leaned close.

"I heard…you had a boy…" he murmured in a low voice. The man's eyes were mocking and he leaned closer, his knowing sneer making the Chief's huge fists bunch.

"I fear he is…indisposed today," he murmured. "I hate to disappoint you, sir. Maybe in a couple of days he will be free to service your…" Stoick leaned closer and felt in his belt pouch, then drew out three silver coins. He silently showed them to the steward. He knew the man was lying.

"If the boy is unfit for...action...then perhaps I can _talk_ to him instead," the Chief said, adding a fourth. The steward was clearly fighting a war in himself: then he snatched the coins as gracefully as he could manage and nodded.

"This way, sir," he said unctuously. "It will take a few moments to prepare the boy. He has been…a little under the weather." Stoick nodded curtly and allowed himself to be led to a small room with a bed, a table and a chair. He settled his bulk on the chair and stared at the door. His heart was racing, his entire body tense. What would he find? Was his mind playing tricks? Had he imagined it?

But as a quarter hour passed, he wondered if he had been cheated and he grasped his sword and made to rise. And then the door opened and the skinny, listing shape cautiously entered. The Chief stared as the boy waited nervously by the door, his face downcast and half-hidden behind messy auburn hair. The man beckoned him in and warily, painfully, the boy slowly advanced a few steps, the chains on his legs jingling. He swallowed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked in a fearful voice. He gave a slight shiver and the man beckoned him closer. With a slight pause. the boy reluctantly advanced.

"Look at me!" the Chief commanded. The boy-clearly very wary but more frightened of the steward and whatever the man had threatened him with-lifted his face, his green eyes scared. Stoick gave a sigh: they were Valka's eyes. Her colour, her shape, even the long lashes… The boy's face was very bruised, an eye closing and welts dark on his pale skin. He was moving very hesitantly, hinting at a lot more bruising that wasn't obvious. Stoick gestured to the bed but the boy gave him a betrayed look and stubbornly remained standing.

"What do you want, sir?" he asked softly. There was certainly the trace of an Archipelago accent and Stoick wondered where the boy had come from.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The boy froze and gave a forced smile.

"Right as rain," he lied and winced as he shifted his position slightly.

"Alright-what did they do to you?" the Chief asked. Hiccup hesitated, recalling the stern injunction he had been placed under: _don't tell him anything. Or else…_ But what more could Sundby do to him? Then he stared at the stern Viking and his eyes narrowed.

"What does it matter to you?" he asked suddenly.

"You asked for my help," Stoick reminded him gruffly. The boy flinched and his eyes suddenly flared with recognition.

"Yesterday!" the boy snapped back. "I asked for your help _yesterday_ when I had broken out. When I needed protecting against his men. When I needed someone to stop them taking me back. I needed help _yesterday!_ Now…" He gestured to his ankles, to shackles clamped around his legs and gave a grim smile. "It's too late now…" Stock jerked to his feet.

"What did they do you?" he snapped and the boy back-pedalled and almost tripped over his feet. He fell back across the bed and stared up, his eyes suddenly wide with fear as Stoick advanced on him. He cringed and his face lost all defiance.

"Please…" he breathed. "Don't…" He was hyperventilating and his eyes shimmered with tears. The Chief took an awkward step back as the boy struggled to a sitting position.

"Boy?" he murmured. "Easy, lad-I won't hurt you…" The boy gave a pained grimace.

"He said that as well," he said in a tiny voice. He was trembling. Stock took a step closer and dropped to a knee to stare into the battered face.

"What did he do to you?" he breathed. The boy looked away.

"What he felt he was allowed," he said tonelessly.

"To his slave," Stoick probed gently. The boy winced.

"I'm not a slave," he murmured obstinately. His cheeks were flushed with shame.

"You are marked," the Chief told him gently. He had seen the brand. The boy sagged and rested a hand against his middle. He shook his head "Do you work here?" The boy shook his head again.

"No, I haven't…" he said urgently, his green eyes wide with the plea once more. "I-I ran because I wouldn't…I refused…" He took a shuddering breath. "He was my first c-customer and I ran away…" He stared at the floor. "I-I knew he would be so mad but I couldn't…couldn't face…" His words faded into jagged breaths, the boy's eyes closing as he tried to stop his tears coming. He flung his arm across his face. "I'm sorry…" he muttered. The Chief reached out and caught the boy by his shoulders and pulled his arm away. Hiccup froze, not daring to move. He was trembling hard so the Chief just stared at the lad.

"What did they do to you?" he asked gently. Trapped, the boy stared at the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. What did it matter what this man knew? He would never see him again after he left this room.

"They brought me back," he said quietly. "They beat me once I was back. Then I was locked in the small room and told I would be isolated for two days. Sundby came in and whipped me." He gave a wan smile. "I-I've had worse," he managed in a self-conscious attempt at bravery. "And then they left me in there. Just some water. No food. It was pretty cold. And when he thought I had had long enough to lie in pain and think over what they would do to me, he came back. again. And this time he didn't bring his whip." He swallowed. He was studying the floor furiously and the Chief realised he didn't want to say more.

"How old are you?" the Chief asked him. His green eyes flicked up.

"Fifteen, I think," he admitted. The Chief gave a slight nod and the boy found himself wanting to tell, to connect with another human being. "My mother died birthing me and my father rejected me. I was to be floated out with my mother's corpse on her funeral ship so my aunt-the midwife-kept me and they took me to another island and raised me."

"So how did you end up in chains?" the Chief asked him. The boy grimaced, his skinny shape slowly calming as he was able to concentrate on his story.

"When I was twelve, they died and shortly after, our island was attacked," he admitted slowly, his voice flat. "The fighting was fierce and our tribe was badly harmed. Many died and the attackers promised to leave if they could take slaves to pay for their losses." He gave a grim smile. "The rest of the tribe decided I could be spared and I was given to them to sell. I ended up…in chains, under a master in Berserk. He wasn't very kind." He paused and the space was filled with a world of pain. The lad lifted his chin slightly before he continued. "I served there for a year until he wearied of me and sold me on. I was a farm-slave in Meathead lands for a few months but they decided I was too weak and no amount of beating me would make me bigger and stronger. So I was sold again. The next master was a ship captain and trader and he was worse: he almost worked me to death and he whipped me incessantly. He was very cruel. He just enjoyed making me bleed."

There was another pause and the Chief stared at the skinny shape, the thin arms and legs folded around the battered body. The boy had endured some desperate times. "Eventually, I escaped and jumped ship. I ended up here, trying to conceal the fact I am runaway. But I'm not really dock-hand material and eventually, I couldn't feed myself. There was nowhere else I could go except…here." He shuddered. "But I never told anyone about my brand…until Sundby found out when he…" And then he pressed his eyes closed, his arm flung across his face in a vain attempt to conceal his shame. He flushed bright red.

"What's your name?" Stoick asked him softly. The boy sighed.

"Hiccup," he admitted. And he winced. He paused then glanced up at the Chief, exploring the large face and kindly eyes above the enormous beard. "Aren't…aren't you going to laugh or comment or tell me what it means?" he asked slowly.

"I assume you know," Stoick told him easily. "And from your face, most people make fun of it. A couple of my ancestors were Hiccups. Never held them back." _Much,_ he added silently. The boy frowned. "My name is Stoick. I come from Berk." Hiccup stared at him and then nodded. He knew of the place.

"Northern Archipelago," he murmured. "Three days from Berserk. Not that I liked it there," he added quickly. "I-I know you guys don't get on with Berserkers. Never really liked them either." He offered a wan smile. "So why are you here, sir?" he asked. The Chief looked uncomfortable.

"I should have helped you yesterday," he apologised. "But you looked very like someone I knew. I was surprised…" The boy stared at him warily. Stoick's hands were still on his shoulders.

"Erm, you're not gonna suddenly throw me on the bed and…well, you know, are you?" he asked suspiciously. He was tensing again. "I-I know Sundby said you only wanted to talk but I-I guess if you wanted to do anything, I couldn't stop you…" The Chief stared at him. He was deeply insulted by the insinuation but he could see the defensive light in the boy's eyes. The lad had already been more abused than he deserved and the Chief had failed him.

"No," he murmured slowly. "You remind me of someone I lost. My dead son would be around your age had he lived. You asked for my help. I just wanted to see…that you were okay." The boy sagged suddenly. He just felt too tired to deny it any more.

"I'm not," he admitted in a small voice. "Once he's finished with my punishment, I'll be offered up to the customers and I'll be made to go through it. And I-I-I…" His voice was breaking now and the Chief suddenly saw the frightened boy, faced with the act he feared. He wrapped his arms round the skinny boy and, after a long moment where he resisted, he fell into the Chief's embrace, his thin shape pressing against the huge man and wrapping his arms around his neck. He buried his face in the man's huge chest and Stoick felt him sobbing quietly, clinging to the stranger as the only person who had offered him any physical comfort for years. The Chief held him hard enough to let him know he was there, while gently stroking the boy's back…and feeling the flinches as he pressed his whip-gashes. Finally, Hiccup stiffened and pulled away and the Chief let him.

"Can I do anything?" Stoick asked him gently. He felt so strongly that he needed to help this battered and terrified boy. Hiccup shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "But…thank you, sir. You have been kind." And then the door opened and Sundby entered.

"Time's up," he said brusquely and Hiccup stiffened, catching his expression. He guessed that he would pay for his talk. He nodded, bowed his head and walked painfully back to the steward.

"Thank you again, sir," he said in a defeated tone. "And…goodbye." And then he was gone, escorted from the room like an errant slave and Stoick narrowed his eyes angrily. He didn't believe in slavery and was shocked this boy could be imprisoned so cruelly. The tale of his slavery made the Chief's blood boil: the boy had been orphaned and despite being free-born, he was just handed over by his tribe to slavery. The fact he had the courage to escape but had been finally recaptured and treated so cruelly also made him furious. And he was certain that the steward was abusing the boy in every way possible. He forced himself to consider the situation: it really _wasn't_ his business what happened with this thin and scared boy. The law was very clear: he was a runaway and belonged to the man who owned him or the man who caught him. If he chose to use the boy in the whorehouse, beat, whip or even kill him, then it _wasn't his concern._

But then he recalled the plea in those wide green eyes and the desperate voice that had begged for help. The shuddering shoulders as the boy fought his fear of being used as a whore and the feel of the skinny arms tightening around his neck as he held the lad. Long buried paternal instincts suddenly swirled into life and he felt determined to save the boy from the horrible fate that waited him. He rose abruptly, Gobber's warning echoing in his ears, and stamped after them.

The steward and his prisoner had only made it to the main room when a large and drunken Viking grabbed Hiccup and snatched him from the steward's hands.

"You said he wasn't available!" he growled. He jerked Hiccup closer and then boy went rigid, his eyes wide with fear. The man stroked his ass roughly and his hand snagged the tunic. Then he lunged his face at the boy, pressing his lips over Hiccup's and snaring the resisting boy in a brutal kiss. The man kept stroking his ass as he crushed the boy's lips under his, trying to force his tongue into his mouth. "I want him," he mumbled. The steward looked at the panicking boy and gave a cruel smile. Hiccup was struggling but the man crushed the boy in his grasp.

"He's double price this evening," he said, seeing the drunken man was lusty and determined and the man-as expected-handed over a small number of coins without even taking his mouth off the boy's. The steward nodded and spread his hands.

"All yours," he said. "I can give you room…"

"Where?" the Viking growled, sucking at the boy's neck. Hiccup was shaking like a leaf, still struggling. Sundby gestured to the nearest available space-a room just off the main room-and the man dragged the resisting boy into the small space, slamming the door. Hiccup clawed at the man's face, getting the man to let him go for a moment in which he could stumble back and press his battered shape against the wall.

"No," he said. The drunken man advanced on him, his face beet red with rage. He snatched the boy's hair and dealt him a vicious blow.

"You don't get no say!" he snarled and threw the boy across the room. Hiccup scrambled up, fighting against the short chain between his shackles. Then a hand fisted his hair and the Viking turned the boy, ignoring the narrow, hard bed and roughly bending him over the table. He dragged his leggings down to his shackled ankles and leaning close.

"Take it like a man!" he snarled. "If I want you sobbing like a baby, I'll tell you!"

"No," the boy begged, tears leaking down his face. The Viking slapped him hard.

"They said you was feisty," he hissed. "But if you resist, boy, I'll have Sundby whip the hide off you. Understand?" And he fumbled with his own breeches as the boy closed his eyes, praying to the gods that this was all a horrible nightmare.

"P-please, d-don't..." Hiccup sobbed, shaking his head. There was no hope now: he would be raped here, just off the main room and he just hoped Stoick would leave and never know how shamefully he had been used. The man was already ready, resting against him and he was struggling, writhing and pulling against the man's rough grasp on his hair. The Viking looked up, gave a nasty grin and forced himself forward.

The wild scream of pain echoed in the room and Hiccup felt his entire body tense against the intrusion. The man slapped him so hard that the boy saw stars streaking across his vision and he gave a pained gasp as the grip on his hair tightened. The Viking lunged forward again, dragging another pained scream from the boy.

"WHERE IS HE?" Stoick snarled as he stamped into the main room. Sundby was there but the boy wasn't and he guessed the steward-who quite clearly had locked him up, whipped him and probably raped him-wouldn't trust the runaway to lock himself up again. The other patrons, whores and bystanders all parted as he closed on the steward.

"I got an offer, a very generous offer!" Sundby sneered, his face cruel. "The boy can earn his keep…"

The scream echoed through the room and the whores looked up in shock and concern. They knew that their business depended on the illusion of willingness and enjoyment: no one wanted to hear someone screaming and begging not to be hurt. Thora tensed and her eyes darkened with concern.

 _He's a shy lad, a boy who doesn't want the company of men. He's being tortured by Sundby and we all know it,_ she thought and glanced at the big Viking, the man with the flaming beard. She sidled forward and draped herself over him and while he tensed and made to push her away, she tightened her grasp on his arm. Her whole mien was that of a very generous and blatant offer but not the offer Sundby imagined. She leaned close to his ear.

"If you have any mercy, you'll get him out of here," she breathed. "That room there, on the right!" He stared at her and his lips moved.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. She slapped him and flounced away, her expression suggesting he had made an improper comment-and went to sit by Gerda as the big Viking shoved the steward aside and stormed in the direction she had indicated. The screams were more urgent and far more desperate.

Hiccup was lost, pain swathing his shape as the Viking continued his pleasure. He just rested his head on the table as the man continued. Tears were streaming down his face, his voice was hoarse with screaming and he just prayed that Stoick would never know what happened to him. But then the door slammed open and the voice that echoed through the room made him shrivel inside and wish the floor would open up and swallow him.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Stoick snarled as he stamped into the room. Hiccup buried his face into the table, not wanting to see the man's face at his state. Stoick was blinded with rage as he closed on the Viking who had Hiccup helpless. With a nasty grin, the Viking continued his ride, lunging forward again, drawing another pained cry from the battered boy. Then Stoick grabbed him and threw him across the room. The Viking growled, enraged at the interruption of his fun.

"I paid for that!" he shouted and ran, half-naked, at the huge Chief of Berk. His fists swung but Stoick was sober and furious and a far better warrior anyway. He blocked the blows and his fists swung again, the crack of fist on flesh loud in the small room. The Viking flew back with a crash, his drunken shape slamming against the wall. With a groan, he slumped bonelessly on the bed.

Then he turned, breathing hard, his face scarlet with anger. He scanned the room and saw the shape, cowering under the table. Hiccup had managed to reassemble his clothing but had just crawled under the table and curled up like a small animal, his arms thrown across his tear-streaked face. And then the Chief dropped to a knee in front of the table and stretched out his hand.

"D-don't…" Hiccup whispered.

Stoick stared at the bowed shape and calmed his breathing.

"Come with me," he breathed. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you. I thought I had some time…some time to do this right…" The boy lowered his arms and heard it then-the decision to rescue him. The apology that while he had made his determination, the steward had sold him. Shaking with shock, his small hand grasped Stoick's huge paw and allowed himself to be lifted into Stoick's powerful arms. Stoick looked down onto the skinny shape, the messy auburn mop and shining green eyes, shadowed with fear and pain and felt the boy shivering.

But as he emerged, the steward was waiting with his two henchmen-the two who had captured the boy the previous day.

"That's mine," Sundby sneered, pointing at the shape huddled in the Chief's arms. Hiccup stiffened and Stoick felt the jolt of terror run through him. He stood back and motioned the men forward. Stoick backed away, his eyes flicking from man to man. These henchmen were not seasoned warriors, merely dockhands who hurt others for pay. Stoick had fought a dozen wars and battles to protect his tribe and he didn't hesitate as he shifted Hiccup so he was held in one arm, the other drawing his sword. He leaned forward, his weight onto the balls of his feet and he gave a nasty grin.

"Take another step only if you want to visit Valhalla," Stoick sneered. The men, too stupid to listen, rushed him and the Chief used his sword as a bludgeon, battering the men back, a foot swinging out to take down the third man who thought to flank the chief. Stoick spun, backhanding the last man standing and watching him crash onto a small table, smashing it. There was shattered earthenware all over the place and spilled drinks. Many patrons had departed because they didn't fancy any attention from the guards, though some were standing at the side, protecting their ales and cheering wildly. They were _Vikings,_ after all and they appreciated a good dose of mayhem. The whores had withdrawn but Thora and Gerda stayed, watching the confrontation and the fate of the boy.

"That. Slave. Is. Mine." Sundby's words were emphasised and the Chief turned to him, his naked sword still raised. He felt Hiccup bury his face in his chest. The steward had really terrorised the boy. He shook his head.

"I'll take him," he growled. Sundby laughed in his face.

"He's not for sale!" Sundby sneered. Stoick laughed in his face.

"This is a whorehouse," he mocked. " _Everything_ is for sale.' Sundby grabbed at the boy.

"Not him," he snarled. "He's lied to me and run for the last time. I want him broken and begging to work…" Stoick felt rather than heard the groan that shuddered through the boy and that crystallised his resolve. He punched the steward-hard-and as he slammed back, the Chief sheathed his sword and tightened his grasp on the boy. Then, deliberately, he fumbled in his pouch and slammed a dozen coins down on the board: they were smaller than earlier, but made of gold.

"This will more than cover his price," he said grimly, "since I know you paid nothing for him. I will deal with him." Hiccup stiffened in fear but the steward eyed the coins for only a moment before placing his hand over them.

"Deal with him," he hissed, "and you'll find what trouble that little bastard is!" Stoick stared coldly into his face.

"He is now property of Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk!" he announced. And with that, the skinny, sobbing shape in his arms, he stalked out of the door and into the night.


	4. Chapter 4: A cold welcome

**Four.**

Once the cold air hit him, Stoick slowed his pace and shifted the boy in his arms. Hiccup was squirming and the man realised he was trying to adjust his clothing again. The boy stopped fidgeting as he managed a measure of success and the Chief stared into the bright green eyes. Hiccup was breathing fast and his damp face was scared.

"Thank you," he whispered. He was still trembling hard though wracked with shame at being traded like a piece of meat. The Chief began striding down the incline towards the docks again.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked the boy gruffly. Hiccup's face panicked. _Surely he couldn't be so cruel as to abandon him to starvation and death-or recapture?_

"N-no!" he stammered. "That's why-why I ended there…" His scrawny shape tensed.

"Anyone?"

"N-no…" The boy felt the arms tighten around him. He grabbed his courage and took a quick breath. "Can-can I come with you?" Stoick stared ahead as they jogged down the hill. Then he nodded.

"Of course," he said gruffly. The boy stared up into the big face.

"You-you never said you were the Chief," he murmured. Stoick give a wry grin.

"You never asked," he told the boy. Hiccup grimaced.

"No, sorry," he murmured. "I was scared that if I asked you anything, you would tell me something that would ruin the illusion." Stoick stared into the green eyes.

"What illusion?" he asked suspiciously. The boy's eyes were candid.

"That you might for a moment care for me," he said softly. "That you asked for me because you wanted to see me, not because you might want to…want to hurt me…" The Chief stopped and stared at the scrawny shape in his arms.

"I will never hurt you," he promised the boy. The boy looked up and cuffed the tears from his face. He nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly. Then he grimaced as he shifted his battered shape.

"Are you alright?" he asked and the boy closed his eyes. He shook his head as they weaved through the sailors on the docks.

"I'll survive," he said quietly. "Thanks to you, sir. " The Chief walked straight ahead and the way parted to let him through. The boy felt himself shifted slightly in the big man's arms as the Chief approached a mooring and stepped easily onto a sturdy boat. Hiccup shivered as he was lowered to his feet.

"STOICK!" The shout was loud and over-familiar and the boy saw a large shape with high horned helmet, blue eyes and long blond braided moustache. The man had a right peg-leg and a hook for a left hand. The man looked unabashedly at the skinny boy and then up at the Chief. "Hmm, so you couldn't leave alone," he added. He stared closer. "See what you mean, though," he added. Hiccup felt his cheeks scorch with embarrassment at the close inspection.

"The boy is coming with us, Gobber," the Chief said clearly. The blacksmith frowned.

"He's a slave, isn't he?" he asked thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on the chains on his legs. Hiccup dropped his eyes and stared furiously at the deck. "You know what they'll say?"

"I had to get him out of there," Stoick told him gruffly. "He was in danger." The blacksmith stared at the hunched little shape, his head down and cheeks wet. He frowned. There were bloodstains on the back of his tunic and the blacksmith realised that the boy had been whipped recently. And he was trembling hard. There was blood on his leggings as well and Gobber, though brash and largely insensitive, could see what the young man had suffered. He cast a glance at his friend: the boy _did_ bear a strong resemblance to Stoick's dead wife Valka and he knew his friend would want to protect the boy for that reason. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Unfortunately, Stoick hadn't thought the thing through.

"Wow, Uncle-you shouldn't have!" The brash voice belonged to Snotlout, the heir to Berk. The boy topped Hiccup almost by a head and was twice his width. His bulging muscles matched the Viking ideal though his clear blue eyes and black hair were the opposite to his Uncle. The boy grinned and walked round the bowed boy. He grinned and it wasn't an especially charitable grin. "A slave! Oh, I'm gonna have fun with this!" His father followed him and his icy blue eyes were even less charitable.

"It's a toothpick!" he sneered. Hiccup flinched.

"Not that I'm ungrateful but I didn't think we even kept slaves!" Snotlout added, grasping the boy's skinny arm and pulling a disparaging face.

"We don't!" Stoick snapped and folded his arms. "The boy is being set free and is coming back to Berk- _as my guest!_ " Spitelout looked at his brother as if he had gone mad. He grasped the Chief's arm and leaned close to him as Snotlout poked and prodded the hunched shape.

"Stoick, that boy is clearly a slave and whatever has been done to him-and I think it's pretty obvious-has sullied him beyond any decent company," he said in a low voice. "Are you sure he isn't tricking you, brother? You risk your honour by associating with this…slave. Men will talk that you bring him for…unspeakable purposes." Stoick stared at the skinny shape, the hunched shoulders and rapid breaths. He recalled the terrified look in the boy's face and shook his head.

"I believe he is what he appears," he growled. "A boy who needs a break. I have given him my protection. Gobber-please see to the chains!" The big blacksmith hobbled to the boy's side and nudged his shoulder.

"Come with me, boy," he said and Hiccup stole a glance at the Chief but the man was talking rapidly with his brother and heir and he realised the man was far too important to bother with his concerns or anxieties. He should just be grateful that Stoick had gotten him out of Sundby's clutches. So he lifted his chin and warily followed the big Viking. Gobber was still quick on his peg leg but Hiccup's shackled ankles reduced the boy to an ungainly shuffle that ground to a halt as the man vanished down the steep ladder to the hold. Hiccup paused and stared after the man. He didn't want to make the man angry so he grasped the side and took a clumsy hop onto the first step. He couldn't move his legs enough to step down to the next step so he had to bounce down. He managed three stairs before he tripped over his own feet then pitched forward and fell hard to the deck below.

Gobber spun in shock at the thud and saw the boy curl up, raising his hands to cradle his head, which had taken a heavy bang against the wood. He was breathing heavily and the blacksmith rapidly limped back to bend down over the boy. Hiccup lifted his head slightly and then curled up again, tensing for a blow as he saw the man leaning over him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I-I'll t-try not t-to do it again…" The blacksmith stared at him in shock and laid a hand on his shoulder. The boy flinched and curled up tighter.

"Are you alright?" Gobber asked him quietly. The boy shuddered and gave an urgent nod.

"Y-yes," he murmured quickly. "I-I didn't mean to…"

"I shoulda thought," the blacksmith said, hauling the boy up by his collar. "Let's see. Hmm-yer'll have a fine lump there…to match yer other ones, if I'm any judge." Hiccup winced and took a limping step forward.

"I-I'm fine, sir," he said. Gobber frowned but calmly walked forward and ended at a trunk which he opened. The boy hung back, peering around him and seeing a selection of blacksmithing tools. He frowned as the man turned, grabbed him and plonked him on another trunk.

"Easy, laddie," the blacksmith said, grasping a large saw. "We'll have these off in a moment." Hiccup stiffened and peered past him. Having a one-handed man near his ankles with a saw that could slice through a tree trunk wasn't filling him with confidence. He took a quick breath.

"W-wouldn't the long-nosed pliers be a bit…" his eyes lingered on Gobber's peg leg, "…safer?" The blacksmith gave a dismissive gesture.

"Nah, they'll just twist the chains from the shackles while this…" and he waved the saw eagerly, "…will cut right through!"

"My ankle as well," Hiccup muttered. The blacksmith glanced up sharply.

"You've got a smart mouth, boy," he commented.

"Like having two feet as well," Hiccup replied. "How 'bout the chisel? At least its more precise." Gobber frowned and stared at the boy.

"You don't have confidence in me?" he asked sharply. Hiccup sighed and bowed his head.

"No, I am very grateful," he said defeatedly. "I just don't want to lose a leg…" Gobber brandished his hook irritably.

"Never lost a limb yet!" he pronounced brashly. Hiccup couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "In the forge," he added after a pregnant moment. The boy gave a wan smile. Then the blacksmith stared at him. "Did you say 'long-nosed pliers'?" Hiccup nodded.

"Erm, yes," he admitted. He pointed. "We used to use them…" Gobber put the saw down.

"You used these?" he asked, brandishing the tool. Hiccup nodded.

"My uncle ran the forge," he admitted. "I helped him from when I was six or seven." He gave a slight smile. "My aunt used to have kittens over the burns! They thought if I had a trade, then when they passed, I would have a place, a use to the tribe." Then his face fell and he stared at the floor. "Didn't work out," he admitted softly. "When we were attacked, I was the first one they handed over to the slavers." Gobber stared into the bruised face, seeing the hurt in the forest green eyes.

"Yer worked in a forge?" he repeated. Hiccup nodded. "Oh, yer perfect!" the blacksmith added. Hiccup frowned and scooched back a little from the big man.

"Erm…what-what do you mean?" he asked nervously. Gobber saw the flare of fear and sighed.

"Easy, lad-I'm not about to throw you down and ravish you!" he told the lad testily. Hiccup shuddered and the man realised his jibe had hit far too close to the mark. He stilled and stared at the skinny shape, seeing the trembling in his hands. The blacksmith felt his stomach sink at the realisation and forced his voice to be calm and softer than his usual brash delivery. "What happened to you?" he asked. Hiccup shook his head.

"I ran out of options," he admitted ashamedly. "Options, luck, food, friends, home and finally the right to call myself a free man." He paused and stared at the floor. "Well, I suppose starving or freezing to death are technically _options_ but not really very appetising ones. And I never asked for any of it." His eyes flicked up. "Please-I'm not trying to trick anyone, no matter what that man says. I just-just wanted to get out of there before they hurt me any more."

 _More. They had already hurt you, hadn't they,_ Gobber realised and sighed. The lad would need careful handling and it would take some consideration. So he deftly wrenched the chains from the shackles then paused and grabbed a leg, lifting it to inspect the workmanship. He sniffed.

"Pretty poor," he grumbled, ignoring the panic in the boy's eyes at the uninvited contact. "I can snap the hinge to get them away..." Hiccup very slowly pulled his leg away.

"If you give me the tools, I-I'll handle it, sir," Hiccup said warily. He had visions of losing his foot if this madman started prising away at his shackles.

"Name's Gobber the Belch," the blacksmith introduced himself. The boy took a resigned breath.

"Hiccup," he replied and waited. Gobber eyed him thoughtfully.

"Aye, you are at that," he commented dryly. The boy looked up as the man handed him the pliers. "Knock yourself out, boy. "

He nodded and limped away, towards the steps. Hiccup stared at the pliers for a long moment, then slowly, cautiously scooted across the trunk and painfully levered himself to his feet. He was limping but he leaned forward and carefully located a chisel and a small mallet. Shifting the tools so he could hold the hammer in his left hand, he lined up the chisel with the hinge, cocked his head and adjusted the position once-then dealt a single, deft blow and smashed the lock. The shackle fell away. He repeated the act with the other shackle and finally, he was unfettered. Carefully, he placed the tools back in the trunk, including the pliers and then gently closed the top. He turned round-to find Gobber a mere yard away.

"Yer've got some moves and a nice touch," Gobber noted quietly. The boy stared into his face and his green eyes lit with a small touch of pride.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Those are nice tools." Gobber nodded in acknowledgement at the compliment. He was beginning to like the boy.

"So…six years before yer uncle died," he mused. Hiccup nodded though his eyes shadowed with memory.

"I enjoyed working with metal," he admitted. "I could create something…with my own Hiccup twist sometimes…" And he gave a brief, shy smile but then he sighed. "No one credited a skinny boy with any skills. I did what I could. But in the end, it didn't seem to be enough." Gobber clapped him on the shoulder and he hissed in pain at the pressure on his whip wounds. Oblivious, the blacksmith repeated the action.

"Yer know, I've been thinking about getting an apprentice," he mused. "Interested?" Hiccup stared up into the face and saw kindness and a genuine offer in there. He nodded and managed a small smile.

"If Chief Stoick allows, I would like nothing more," he admitted. Gobber wrapped a hand around his shoulder and steered the boy back to the steps.

"Stoick will want you to have something you want to do," he said cheerfully, "and if you help me, all the better! I'm his right hook man!" He paused and leaned closer. "Though yer probably better not say that too loud. He doesn't take too kindly to…being reminded." He tapped the side of his nose. "Know what I mean?" Hiccup gave an uncomprehending nod as they reached the steps and the boy had to scramble up on his hands and feet before staggering onto the deck. Stoick was nowhere to be seen and Gobber clapped the boy on the shoulder once more and ambled off towards the dock. The boy glanced around and wearily made his way to the furthest corner of the ship and settled down.

No one was paying him any attention and though he felt vulnerable, he hunkered down further. He wrapped his arms around his aching body. It was late and he was cold and hungry-but it was infinitely better than being back in the whorehouse. He closed his eyes. He couldn't tell Stoick that he had spent the day after his recapture and the savage whipping that had followed curled in the little room, fearing the turn of the key in the lock and the arrival of Sundby who had raped him again. He flung his arms across his face. He would do anything for the man who saved him. Even if he kept Hiccup as a slave, he would not run: he owed Stoick too much to betray him. He would work his hands to the bone if he asked. He blinked. _He had hugged him._

He stared up at the mast, the sail furled. He could recall the symbol of Berk was a dragon impaled on a sword, for the island was at more or less constant war with dragons who incessantly raided it. The people were tough: the Berserkers had been disparaging about them but Hiccup realised that they suffered and died in the raids. His aunt had told him a lot about Berk: she had been fond of the place which had been her home. Then he shivered. Anywhere was better than the port.

The sounds of steps caused him to look up and the black-haired boy, Snotlout, and his father approached him, standing over the huddled shape. Hiccup glanced up, his green eyes wary at the cold glances raining down on him. Uncomfortable, he got to his feet with a wince. They looked hostile and he felt himself grow anxious.

"Can-can I help you?" he asked hesitantly. The man scowled, his blue eyes remote.

"You know you can't stay, don't you?" he said. Hiccup felt fear freeze his heart.

"Wh-what?" he murmured. Spitelout leaned closer.

"You know he is Chief of Berk?" he hissed. Hiccup nodded stupidly.

"He-he said when he paid for me," he stuttered.

"Oh gods, it can't even talk properly!" Snotlout scoffed.

"Bet he told you he lost his son, too," Spitelout sneered. The boy hesitated.

 _You remind me of someone I lost. My dead son would be around your age had he lived._

"Y-yes…" he said hesitantly. "But-but he only told me after he had come to see me. I-I never knew before, if that's what you're thinking…"

"It's happened before," Spitelout said accusingly. Hiccup felt his heart sink into his boots.

"Oh, gods," he breathed. He shook his head. "No-no, I-I didn't." He began to shiver. "Please-you-you can't think that I-I would…" His breaths started hitching and he felt his throat too thick to talk. What they were implying was horrible and he knew then that they wouldn't want him.

"You know you're a bed slave, boy," the man told him accusingly. "A whore in all but name. And him bringing you back…harms him. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve to be exploited by you. To be harmed by you." Hiccup shook his head.

"I-I just wanted to get out of there," he protested desperately. Spitelout grabbed the boy and slapped his hand over his mouth. He nodded to another man.

"Get his arms, Ack! We should take him back to the whorehouse. Maybe we can get Stoick's money back as well!" Hiccup struggled with all his might but his battered and scrawny body was no match for the warriors and despite using every ounce of his strength he soon found himself dragged back through the front door of the whorehouse and into the main room. His eyes widened in horror as he saw Sundby, speaking to a customer until he caught sight of the struggling boy. The man's face twisted into a very nasty smile, the bruise dark on his cheek.

"I knew you'd be back, boy-and this time you'll never leave!" he menaced. Hiccup just trembled, his eyes wide with terror and tears starting in his gaze. He was lost.


	5. Chapter 5: Lost and Found

**Five.**

Hiccup felt his entire body clench in terror as the steward of the whorehouse, Sundby, inspected him with cruel, triumphant eyes. His fist clenched. "I knew you'd be back, boy-and this time you'll never leave!" he menaced. Hiccup struggled against the grips holding him, his eyes wide with terror and tears starting in his gaze.

"N-no," he breathed pleadingly. "P-please…I-I c-can't d-do this…" Sundby fisted his hair and stared into the terrified face.

"I will break you, boy and then I will watch you beg to be ridden by our roughest clients!" he shouted. The boy cringed back into the man holding him, his body shuddering in fear. The man-Ack-looked very uncomfortable and he cast a questioning glance at Spitelout. The man was cold and oblivious but Snotlout was looking as uncomfortable: though he sneered at the smaller boy's weakness and wounds, he could see the terror was real and the threats were not ones he would want to face. He glanced up to Ack and gave a slight nod. The big Viking looked almost relieved as his grip loosened on the boy and Hiccup took his chance, kicking Sundby in the groin, breaking free and running.

Spitelout turned in rage on his son but Snotlout frowned back and marched from the whorehouse, leaving Sundby clutching at his abused assets and screaming for his thugs to go and track down the boy. The Heir to Berk strode down the hill, his angry father and fellow tribesman at his back. He felt safe but knew now the other boy wasn't. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but he knew now that what they had done was wrong.

When they arrived back, Stoick was on the boat and shouting for the boy. His face was frantic. He grabbed Snotlout as soon as he stepped off the gangplank. "Have you seen him? The boy-Hiccup? Where is he?" The Heir was taken aback.

"Er-er… he left," he lied automatically. "He-he said he had someone to see…" Stoick's face hardened and Snotlout back-pedalled.

"He _has_ no one!" he snapped.

"Oh, _that's_ what he told you?" Spitelout sneered. Stoick turned to him, his eyes narrowing.

"Brother?" he probed, his fists tightening.

"You know he was just using you?" Spitelout taunted him. "He's a body-slave, working as a whore…" Stoick took a breath and his voice was dangerously soft.

"I know," he said. "I saw him there. He escaped and I saw him beaten and dragged back. When I got back, he had been severely beaten and whipped. He was frightened. Then I heard him screaming. He was being raped, brother-and screaming every instant of the time. I couldn't leave him. I bought him. I promised that I would not hurt him!"

"Eh, he fooled you well…" Spitelout sneered.

"He was being assaulted!" Stoick shouted. "He was begging for help. I can tell a real plea from a fake! I promised him I would protect him." Spitelout froze. That actually made things worse. "What have you done?" the Chief snarled.

"Er…we took it back to get your money…" he stammered. Stoick gave a roar of fury.

"Do you know how many men I had to fight to get him OUT of there?" he snarled.

"Er…he did run away once we got him there!" Spitelout confessed as Snotlout and Ack shared a glance. Stoick rolled his eyes.

"So I fight my way out of there, buy the boy's freedom and promise him my protection and then you clowns kidnap him back there, _GIVE_ him back to his abuser for nothing and lose him so every patron and henchman there is on his tail?" he asked with forced patience.

"Erm…yes?"

"Then get your asses up the hill and find that boy-or don't bother coming back at all!" the Chief roared and the three miscreants ran for it. Gobber walked up to his angry friend.

"I think I'll go looking as well," he offered mildly. "That lad has been badly hurt and if they get their hands on him, I dread to think what they'll do!" Stoick rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"He's done a fantastic job surviving three years since he was handed into slavery by his tribe," he told the blacksmith, "but he is all out of options. And courage. He couldn't cope in that place, Gobber-it would kill him. The steward would kill him. And I promised I would protect him." Gobber nodded.

"We'll protect him," he promised as the two friends walked into the night.

oOo

Hiccup felt the stitch stab his side and he whimpered. He was slowing and he was still a long way from any safety. He could barely run due to his injuries but he had used the element of surprise and gotten a few streets between himself and the whorehouse. But he had few places to go. He couldn't go to the docks, obviously-if the men had removed him, it had to be at Chief Stoick's command. He had seen the black-haired man talk at length with the Chief and he had clearly won the day. Hiccup honestly didn't know what he had done wrong but somehow, he had lost that wonderful, miraculous chance for a new life. He couldn't stay in the civilised areas because Sundby would find him with ease. So he had only one choice: the old town, the rackety warehouses and rotting houses clinging to the far waterfront. It was the haunts of dangerous, desperate and violent men that Hiccup avoided of necessity because they preyed on the weak. But he really was done for now: there was nowhere else. So he straightened up and headed down the hill and blinked in fear, before hesitantly stepping onto the rotting boards and entering the old town.

The boy limped slowly forward, every sense straining. He was cold and everything hurt. His stomach was hollow, his mouth dry and his heart felt broken. He kicked himself mentally: he had let every guard down as the big Viking came to see him and he had _trusted_ him. He had dropped his guard, told the man his tale and he had allowed himself to hope when he had taken him from that place. His return had been the cruellest of jokes, a blow that he thought would shatter him. He lowered his head and took a shuddering breath.

A scrittering sound had his head snapping round and peering nervously into the darkness. Sharing the old town with rats wouldn't be so bad, right? It was the human rats that had him worried. But he could imagine Sundby's henchmen closing, their hands crushing his skinny arms and their laughs as their fists smacked into his flesh once more. He limped forward and paused: he felt dizzy. He hadn't eaten all day and had been given precious little water. And he had not even started to process the fact that he had been raped…

He froze and felt himself begin to shiver. It had been a dire mistake to start thinking because the moment he started to consider just what had happened to him, it became _all_ he could think of. The images rushed back, the sights and sounds and smells. The feelings of utter powerlessness and shame, the threats, the eyes on him, looking with scorn and disgust. And the pain…oh, the pain. He turned and scrambled along the rotting walkways, arms flailing and eyes wide with tears streaking his battered face. He just kept running until he was finally faced with a blank wall. He stared around wildly until he found a small corner and collapsed there, his arms wrapped around his body and his face buried in his knees as he sobbed in utter misery.

He lost track of how long he stayed there, but he had run out of tears and had calmed to the odd hiccup and sniff when he could finally breathe and think once more. And he was feeling dreadfully cold when the scrape of a foot had him freezing, his shoulders hunched and arms tightening around his skinny frame. If it was his hunters, he was lost. And he didn't want to see his doom. But he still yelped as a hand grabbed his hair and wrenched his hair up-to face cold and cruel eyes. The fact they weren't the eyes of Sundby's henchmen gave him little reassurance as three rough looking men dragged the battered boy to his feet and pressed him against the rotting wall behind him.

"What have we got 'ere?" one said, his hand grabbing Hiccup's face and moving it to inspect him completely. "Little rat?" The second narrowed his eyes as Hiccup's frightened green gaze saw their short knives and calloused fists.

"Search the boy-he may have some goodies on him!" he hissed. And rough hands touched every part of him, fingers roughly probing his shape for money or anything of value. But all they found was a torn tunic stained with blood, a pair of stained leggings and some boots too small to be of any use to his attackers. And a battered, skinny body that had taken too much abuse recently. He just went rigid, his eyes wide and mouth closed in fear. Every intrusive touch brought images sleeting back through his vision as they pawed him, over and over. Finally, the men finished assaulting him and the first nuzzled his neck.

"There are goodies here," he murmured, his hand sliding down the boy's thin chest again, feeling the lad hyperventilate. "And you can make some good friends here," he whispered to the boy. Hiccup blinked and tears trickled down his cheeks.

"Don't need any more," he gasped. _Any like you,_ he added silently. He shook his head.

"Do you want the guard to know you're an escaped slave?" the second man sneered. He had felt the brand through the thin tunic. Hiccup swallowed and looked at him in a silent plea. He shook his head again.

"So you can be nice to us or we hand you over," the man hissed. Hiccup struggled.

"No!" he said suddenly. "You don't want to deal with the guards any more than I do!" The man's dark eyes narrowed.

"Clever boy!" he sneered and slapped Hiccup. "But we don't want your sass, boy! And if you won't play nice, then we'll play nasty!" Then suddenly, all three men were hitting and punching him. They allowed him to drop to the ground and he curled up, trying to protect himself as the thuds of boots hitting his body sounded in the little alley. He bit his lips to stop himself from crying out, knowing that would enrage them further. Suddenly, they pulled away.

"Get out of here!" the first man shouted and the battered boy scrambled to his feet, whimpering and stumbling as he desperately ran away from the men. _Where_ wasn't the question: _away_ was all that was important. Wildly, he ran, his feet slipping on the slimy boards. He heard footsteps behind him and he flinched, running as fast as he could until he broke through the edge of the old town and found himself in the docks once more. He staggered to a halt, suddenly uncertain what he could do. A large Viking slammed into him and he collapsed with a groan.

"Gettout the way!" he roared and the boy cringed-and then he heard the cries.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

He stared in fear at the sound of those voices: those were the men he feared. He staggered up, his breaths so fast that he could barely get any air in. Then he turned and ran along the docks, his small shape weaving between the Vikings and sailors. He gasped for air: he was almost unable to walk any further. And then he found himself facing an empty mooring: he was trapped. He swallowed as Sundby's men stopped, cutting him from the main walkway. He turned to them and his face paled further. He swallowed.

"H-hey guys," he offered in a small, terrified voice. "N-nice night…"

"You really don't learn, do yer, boy?" the first man snarled. He advanced a pace. "Sundby is very angry at you." Hiccup gave an inward groan.

"He-he's always angry," he managed. The second man closed on him.

"You kicked him in a personal place," he sneered. "So he's gonna get a very personal revenge." Hiccup whimpered.

"I-I am a free-free man," he protested. "I-I was bought in front of witnesses and Sundby has no-no…"

A hand closed around his throat, choking off his protests and he clawed at the hands, his eyes wide with terror.

"I'm gonna enjoy watching what he does with you," the first man said, his eyes menacing. Hiccup struggled pitifully and his eyes burned with tears again. He mouthed the word 'please' but he knew there was no chance of clemency. He was thrown into the grasp of the second man and he was secured, still writhing and fighting until a series of blows to his face knocked the fight out of him. He lifted his head blearily as he was hauled back to the main walkway-and then they stopped.

"I think you should put him down," Gobber said, his eyes glinting. He brandished his hook. The henchmen gave a nasty grin.

"Get out of our way, Hook-hand!" the second sneered. "This little slave is ours!" The blacksmith gave a mild look.

"Really? I thought he belonged to Stoick the Vast?" he said and his voice hardened. "You know- _him_?" And he grinned as the Chief stepped heavily forward, his hand on his sword. Gobber leaned forward and gave a very nasty grin as his friend walked alongside and the two Berkians faced the henchmen. Their eyes swivelled up to inspect the Chief, who had handily beaten them previously. Gobber was edging forward, his hook raised and ready and no longer anything to joke about. "I suggest you might need all your hands," he said, staring at the second man and he urgently let Hiccup go. Gobber grabbed him quickly, pulling the boy against his side. He could feel Hiccup trembling. Stoick glared at the men and jerked his head.

"GO!" he snapped. The men stared at him for a second-then ran for it. The Chief glared after them for a moment, but made no move to chase: he didn't need to capture them, just frighten them off. Then he walked heavily towards the trembling boy and stopped by the shivering shape. Hiccup lifted his frightened green eyes and bit on his lower lip. He wouldn't let himself be hurt again, wouldn't trust him if it meant being cast aside once more. He had dropped his defences and had been repaid by betrayal and abuse. The Chief dropped to one knee and stared eye to eye with the lad. "Hiccup?" he said gently. "Where did you go?"

"I-I didn't go anywhere," he said thickly. He could taste blood in his mouth and his vision was still spinning.

"They told me what they did," Stoick said softly. "I never ordered this. I took you from there because you asked for my help. I am going to take you home-to Berk. And you are under my protection, Hiccup. Please, believe me-I will protect you."

Hiccup started and then it hit him: the man hadn't had anything to do with his removal. The black-haired man _hadn't_ won the argument-so he had defied the Chief anyway-and condemned Hiccup... Stoick didn't want him to go. He was going to keep his promise. _He had come back for him._

He burst into tears. Gobber stared down on him in surprise as the boy pressed his hands to his face and sobbed, his thin body shuddering with grief and shock. He forced himself to recall the boy had already had a busy day. Stoick, though, _knew_ how badly the boy had suffered and he gently opened his arms and leaned closer to the boy.

"I promised to protect you," he said gently. Hiccup looked up and saw the honest concern in his eyes-and this time, he flung himself against the big man's chest, his head buried in his neck and arms wrapped tightly around the huge man. Stoick gently wrapped his arms around the slight shape, tight enough to make him feel protected but gentle enough to not hurt his wounds. Hiccup clung to him for a long time, until he finally caught his breath and felt secure enough to lift his head and offer a crooked smile.

"Thank you, sir," he managed. His green eyes were still shy and wary but his pale face, bruised and battered, was very slightly hopeful. "And-and thank you for coming to rescue me." He lifted his head. "You too, Gobber," he said calmly. The blacksmith nodded.

"Polite boy yer got there, Stoick!" he commented. "But we're out here and I'd rather be back on the ship, if yer get my meaning." The Chief nodded and rose carefully to his feet, his hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulders. Hiccup tensed for a short second before allowing himself to feel protected by the touch. He gave a slight smile as the Chief led them back to the ship.

The others were there when they got back and the boy's smile vanished, his shoulders hunching and eyes widening with fear. Stoick could feel his breathing accelerate as he stopped. The Chief tightened his grip on the shoulders, ignoring the slight hiss of pain as he grabbed his whip-gashes and steered him onto the deck. Spitelout looked angry and his eyes promised an unpleasant time for the boy, but Snotlout appeared uncomfortable. Stoick glared at them both and pointedly pulled the boy closer to him.

"Let me make this VERY CLEAR," he said sternly. "Hiccup here is under my protection. He will go back to Berk as a free man, not a slave. He will be treated with respect and that is FINAL! DO we all UNDERSTAND?" The men mumbled acquiescence and the Chief turned his baleful glare to the rest of the crew. There was vigorous mumbling and nodding of heads: no one wanted to annoy the Chief. Then Stoick grabbed the boy and led him down to a small cabin that he had been granted as Chief. Usually, he slept with the men but he was concerned for the boy so he entered and Hiccup followed-and then froze. His throat bobbed and his eyes widened. Stoick gestured to the bed.

"I-I am grateful, sir, but…" Hiccup began in a choked voice, his eyes burning again. The Chief cut him off.

"You will sleep here, in the warm and away from the men," he commented sternly. "I will stay upstairs with Gobber and the men. You need warmth and protection-and food, I see. I'll fetch you a bite: we're all hungry!" The boy swallowed.

"I can't sleep here!" he said in an appalled voice. Stoick frowned. "You're the CHIEF! I can't steal your bed!" The Chief scowled at the boy and he gave a shamed whimper. "You spared me from…a horrible fate. You rescued me twice. And I can't repay you by stealing your bed!" Stoick stared down at the boy and folded his arms.

"If I sleep in here, the men will assume that I am having you," he said gruffly. Hiccup sighed.

"If you sleep with the men, then so do I," he argued quietly. "I'm already having real problems with acceptance from them. I can't disrespect you so, sir." Stoick stared at the boy. Then he nodded.

"So we both sleep on the deck, in the cold," he said. Hiccup gave a wan smile.

"I can guarantee it will be better than the whorehouse," he murmured.

After a meal of roast pork, fresh bread and mead, the crew-except the assigned watchman-curled in their various spots. The meal had been awkward for Hiccup, sitting quietly by Gobber and listening. No one cast him anything other than an unfriendly glare and he kept his head down, ravenously wolfing his food like the starving wretch he was. Stoick had been debating with Spitelout, Ack, Gobber and Haaland and the boy had been aware that the other boy-Snotlout-was eyeing him calculatingly. Hiccup felt uncomfortable and inspected his mug furiously-until Stoick leaned across and pressed another chunk of pork in his hand.

"Eat!" he commanded. "You're nothing but skin and bone!" The boy gave a slight, embarrassed smile and tore into the food, his stomach filling quickly. Snotlout leaned towards his father and gave a snide comment. The man gave a cruel smile and Hiccup shuddered: he knew he should try to steer clear of them. But now, the crew were looking for the spots to sleep.

There was actually a shelter, a low awning that shielded the prow for Stoick and the Elders. Hiccup watched the Chief take his place and grab a blanket and he watched as the other men took their own places. And then he blinked, his head swinging around for an unoccupied space. At the far end, close to the gangplank and any intruder, there was a gap. No blankets were left and the aching and bruised boy gave a sigh, then wearily turned and began to limp to the only gap. But the Chief looked up and saw the boy painfully drag himself away. He sat up sharply.

"Hiccup!" he called. The boy turned like a shot, his green eyes alarmed. He wondered what he had done wrong now and he dipped his head, his auburn hair falling across his suddenly anxious face.

"Sir?" he murmured. His teeth were beginning to chatter. Stoick beckoned him closer and held up a blanket.

"There's room here," he said gently. "You did promise you ate little and took up less space. You seem to deliver on both counts, lad." Self-consciously, the boy came closer, his steps halting. He could see Snotlout and Spitelout glare hatefully at the ragged slave, being asked to share a coveted place by the Chief. He swallowed and tried to step over but Snotlout managed to trip him and he slammed into the deck with a loud thud and a gasp of pain. He breathed heavily and painfully levered himself to his hands and knees. Stoick sat up and watched the boy painfully collapse to the deck, curling up and wrapping his arms around his abused shape. The boy looked pale and the Chief had to remind himself that the boy had been raped, only a few hours earlier. He had a lot of injuries to deal with. He leaned forward and gently tucked the blanket around the little shape, curled tightly just by his feet.

"Th-thank you, sir," Hiccup murmured, his eyes closing exhaustedly. Stoick lay down, a smile tilting his lips.

"Sleep well, son," he murmured.


	6. Chapter 6: Not one of us

**Six.**

Hiccup tried to keep out of everyone's way as they set sail, feeling a dozen vitriolic glares stabbing at his back. _If looks could kill, I'd be well and truly dead,_ he thought with a sigh. Not that he blamed them: he was a nobody, a scrawny outsider, not of their tribe, who was being favoured by the Chief and given a free passage back to their remote island with no discernible skills except... He stopped, trying to school himself not to think that way. It was hard, though: three years of slavery and rejection by everyone hadn't done much for his self-esteem. He calculated he had precisely none left.

Being on a ship wasn't helping either: his uncle had been a blacksmith so he hadn't sailed much and Hiccup's first real voyage was in chains after his tribe had handed him over as booty to make the raiders leave. That trip had been filled with fear, cold, pain and finally the horror of being branded. He stared out across the waves and swallowed against sudden nausea, his hand rising automatically to his brand. Of course, subsequent voyages hadn't been much better, ferried from one cruel master to the next, each filled with a small measure of relief and more trepidation...until he ended with the Captain.

He blinked and felt his stomach knot at the memory: that was territory he really didn't wish to revisit either. The Captain had been a sadistic man who had worked the boy far beyond what was needed and who had enjoyed hurting the boy. Hiccup closed his eyes: he supposed he should be grateful the man hadn't assaulted him sexually but it was probably the only thing he hadn't done. Most of the scars on his body were from the Captain's tender mercies. He wrapped his skinny arms around his body and winced: this wasn't helping either.

He turned and looked for the Chief. Stoick was in conference with his Elders, discussing something that had him scowling and for a long moment, the boy hung back. The truth was, of course, that the only people who seemed happy to see him were the Chief and his self-proclaimed (but very quietly) 'Right Hook Man' Gobber. He drifted a little closer but a scowl from Spitelout had the boy backing up with his head down, like a cowed animal. So he waited, cold and anxious, until the men had finished. Finally, he stepped forward but Sven jumped in first.

"Chief, can I just have a word..."

Hiccup felt his stomach sink. It didn't sound like the prelude to a brief chat and he bowed his head and backed away again. Stoick patiently turned to the man and the boy sighed. The Chief was too busy, too important to spare any time for the battered slave and Hiccup slowly stumbled to the stern, found a quiet corner behind the cargo and hunkered down. He was very stiff and most of his body really hurt. He ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair and hunched up, trying to stay warm.

A step alerted him that someone was there and he stiffened-until he looked up and saw Stoick. Embarrassed, he tried to get up but he winced and gave a groan and felt even worse as a strong hand helped him to his feet.

"I could see you wanted to speak with me," the Chief said calmly. "I'm sorry: a Chief serves his people and sometimes they are demanding!" Hiccup shook his head, his expression wary.

"It-it was n-nothing important," he stammered, kicking himself at his nervousness. "I-I just wanted to ask if there was something I could do?" Stoick looked at him.

"You're not a confident sailor, are you?" he realised. Hiccup shrugged.

"I don't swim well," he admitted, "but-but I was slave to that Captain and he-he insisted I work every hour Odin sent. I kinda did everything on board the ship..." His cheeks flared and he stared at the deck. Stoick patted his shoulder and then gently steered him to the prow of the ship. Hiccup wished he could vanish, with so many hostile eyes on him. The Chief rummaged in his pack and pulled something out.

"It may be a little large for you," he said in an embarrassed voice and lifted a fur vest. He offered it to the boy. "I-I bought it for you just before we sailed. I'm sure you'll grow into it..." Hiccup stared for a long moment before he tentatively closed his hands on the gift. He blinked and his lips tilted into a smile.

"Er...wow," he said, staring at the garment and then looked up. "Thank you," he added, his green eyes shining with gratitude. The Chief gave a slightly awkward nod.

"Good," he murmured. "Well, you looked like you needed something warm…and no one else will get you some decent clothes." Hiccup looked down.

"No one else would say I deserved any," he said quietly, his face carefully blank. The Chief looked at him and frowned.

"Hiccup?" His tone was puzzled. The boy sighed.

"They all know," he murmured. "About my being a slave. And…where you got me." He swallowed. "When we arrive, soon _everyone_ will know." He shuffled his feet self-consciously.

"So you want us to drop you off elsewhere?" Stock asked in a gruff voice.

"No. No!" Hiccup said urgently. His eyes were scared. "No-I really _really_ want to come with you. I-I just don't want you to be shamed by what they say." Stoick kindly laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and he stared down into the bruised face, the green eyes wary.

"I won't be," he assured the boy, his eyes crinkling in a reassuring smile. "Now maybe you could try that vest on before you freeze?" Hiccup nodded and eagerly pulled the vest on. As Stoick had surmised, it was too large but the boy pulled it around this scrawny shape and suddenly felt warmer-not just from the vest itself but from the kindness behind the gift. Then he saw Spitelout cast him an unfriendly look and he shivered.

"I really need something I can do to help can my passage," he suggested softly. "So they don't say I am just exploiting you!" Stoick sighed.

"You're the one who has been exploited," he told the boy sadly and the lad shuddered.

"Thanks for reminding me," he said sarcastically…and then he flinched and hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes and curling against a blow. The Chief stared at him and then started as he realised the boy was expecting a blow. He leaned forward.

"Hiccup?" The boy shook his head: he was trembling.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his tone panicked. "I-I shouldn't have said that, sir. I-I am _so_ sorry…" The Chief gently laid a hand on his trembling shoulder and squeezed.

"Easy, lad," he said. "I won't hurt you, remember?" Hiccup opened a scared eye.

"But I-I shouldn't have answered back," he murmured. "Sorry, I-I just can't help it…" The Chief frowned though his eyes were smiling.

"Hmm. After years of Gobber, I doubt four words of sarcasm from you will kill me," he said. "Relax, boy. You'll strain something." Hiccup slowly untensed and glanced up. He offered a wary smile.

"Stoick!" Gobber called, as if hearing his name. "I want to have a word with ye! About Hiccup." The boy's face fell and he looked up at the men. Stoick nodded.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes suggesting _please, say something helpful!_

"I want to apprentice him," the blacksmith announced. The Chief stared at him and the men nearby all stopped what they were doing to listen in.

"Are you sure?" the Chief asked.

"Positive," Gobber said, a small grin on his big face. "The boy's served six years with a blacksmith in his own tribe and he's got some skills!" Stoick frowned.

"So how did you find that out?" he asked. The blacksmith tapped the side of his nose.

"When we took his shackles off," he explained. "Lad knows the tools and certainly has some moves and a very deft touch. He's not the strongest but he makes up for it in skill. And he's got a nice sarcastic sense of humour that I think would do well in my forge!" The Chief stared down on the boy and saw a little flash of hope in his green eyes and gave a smile.

"Yeah, I noted that," he said in a slightly teasing voice, noting the flush that rose in the boy's freckled cheeks. "But if he wants to work with you, then I think it would be very fortunate. You've been looking for a while."

"None of them wants to learn a proper trade!" Gobber noted disparagingly. "All they wants is to fight dragons and end up in Valhalla! But what are they gonna fight with if there's no blacksmith?" Stoick nodded sagely. He turned his gaze to Hiccup.

"And you?" he asked. The boy started: he hadn't been given a _choice_ for such a long time. He stared up and tried to gauge what the correct answer would be. Then he shrugged.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked softly. Stoick leaned forward.

"What do you actually want?" he asked the boy. Hiccup stole a glance at Gobber.

"Idliketobehisapprentice…" he mumbled swiftly. Stoick frowned.

"What?"

"I'd like to be his apprentice," Hiccup said, his shoulders hunching at the sharp tone. His heart sunk: he'd given the wrong answer. "Sorry," he added in a small voice. But Stoick grasped his shoulder reassuringly and smiled.

"Looks like you have a new apprentice!" he told his friend and Gobber rubbed his chin.

"Aye-looks like I'll be having my hand full!" he commented and his blue eyes twinkled. Hiccup looked up again and his eyes were suddenly hopeful.

"Really?" he asked suddenly. "You-you mean I can…?" Stoick nodded. Then he leaned closer to the boy.

"Good luck," he whispered with a smile.

oOo

He managed to find some gainful employment during the voyage because he couldn't stand the silent accusation that he was stealing his passage. His determination to earn his place had him slopping out the waste buckets, swabbing the decks, gutting the fish they caught to the meals and helping stitch any tears or damage to the sails. The only thing no one asked him to do was row, because it was patently obvious that he was incapable of putting enough muscle behind the effort. He helped the assigned cook-Sven-in preparing the meals and hunkered down at his side, listening hard and helping out willingly.

But when he wasn't toiling, the boy hung around close to the Chief. He had stationed himself as the Chief's slave, fetching him ale when he expressed that he was thirsty, delivering his food, serving his every need. And just remaining meekly a couple of yards from the man, eager to be close to the man he owed everything to.

Stoick watched the boy as he willingly helped. He had no fear of unpleasant tasks, merely carrying himself with determination and efficiency. And his familiarity with the tasks certainly supported his tale of servitude on a trader's ship. But when not occupied, the lad followed the Chief round quietly, attentive to his every need. He was starting to feel a little uncomfortable because he never freed Hiccup to make him a slave. But it was just as clear that the boy felt a deep dependence on the Chief who had spared him from the horrors he was facing and was determined to do whatever he could for his saviour. Hiccup slept curled at his feet, the awful bruises on his face slowly melting as the ship neared Berk but he was quiet and wary around the other Vikings, who made no attempt to welcome the young boy. Only Gobber grinned and chatted to the boy-his new apprentice-while Spitelout made a determined effort to speak with the Chief.

"Stoick, we need to speak about the boy," he said grimly as Hiccup was occupied gutting the day's lunch. The Chief stole a glance at the small shape, sitting cross-legged with a pile of gutted and prepared fish at one side and a bucket of fish-guts at the other.

"Speak," he said a gruff voice, already knowing what he wanted to say. Spitelout was a man with little guile and less tact: he had been murmuring to the rest of the crew all voyage about his reservations.

"The boy can't stay with you," he said grimly.

"He has no one else and nowhere to go."

"He's a slave!" Stoick's brows dipped at the accusing words.

"If that is the case, then where _else_ would he stay but with his master?" he snapped back.

"A bed slave."

"He wasn't…"

"I can see the bloodstains. So can the rest. He's spoiled, Stoick. You let him stay under your roof and the entire village will assume…"

"What the Hel they want!" Stoick growled.

"You can't give away your authority for…that!" Spitelout reminded him. "We have a few solid allies and constant dragon raids. Your tribe needs to respect you!"

"So what do you suggest?" Stoick asked him in a calmer voice. He could feel the weight of eyes on him and looked up to meet the bright green eyes of the boy. He nodded and the lad stared furiously at his work. He knew the Chief was discussing him. Spitelout gave a nod.

"I'll take him in," he offered. "I have a wife and a boy about his age. It won't look as odd." Stoick gave a slow nod, acknowledging the logic. "And he can offer a little help with the chores to pay his way."

"He's apprenticed to Gobber so he'll be out of your hair most of the day," Stoick reminded him. "And brother: I didn't free him to slave in your home. Remember that."

"Oh, I am sure my son will make him welcome and introduce him to the others his age!" Spitelout commented. Stoick sighed. He had lived alone since the loss of his wife and was wondering how he would cope with a teen boy living with him-though from observing the boy, he guessed the lad wouldn't be much trouble. He turned away as Spitelout went to inform his son and stared out to sea. He would have to speak to Hiccup once he had finished his chores.

The boy completed his food preparation and washed his hands, hung the fish to dry and walked quietly and tentatively towards the Chief. Stoick smiled and beckoned him forward and the boy advanced with a smile, his green eyes hopeful. He stationed himself a yard in front of the Chief, his head slightly bowed. Stoick nodded.

"You are determined to make a servant of yourself," he commented. The boy sagged.

"I just try to earn my passage," he protested in a small voice. Stoick laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"That wasn't a criticism, by the way," he reassured the lad. "But I worry that the crew will start to see you as such…given your recent past." Hiccup's eyes flicked up and he sighed.

"Thank you," he murmured. Stoick took a breath.

"I have been thinking about where you will live when we get to Berk," he said gruffly. The boy inspected him with concern and his face grew wary.

"I-I thought I would be living with you," he said before he could stop himself. Then he flinched and slapped his hands over his mouth. "I-I-I'm sorry…" he said urgently. Stoick read the fear and sighed.

"I am a busy man and though there is room, I would not be there to look after you as you deserve," he explained. The boy visibly sagged.

"I-I can look after myself-and you, sir," he argued desperately. "I just need a spot by the fire, out of the wind to sleep. I can cook and clean. I won't be any bother…" Stoick's gentle grasp tightened slightly.

"You are a young man who has suffered far too much and we are taking you to a new place with an unfamiliar tribe," he advised the boy. "So my brother and his family will look after you. His wife will supervise you. His son will help you meet the children your age. And, of course, Gobber will train you in the forge."

"Will I see you?" The voice was very small, the eyes downcast. Hiccup was afraid he was being cast off. Stoick's booming laugh sounded.

"Of course!" he reassured the boy. "Look, boy, I promised I would protect you and this is the best way to do this. And I will expect to see you regularly, son." His thumb slid up and lifted the chin, forcing the downcast face to meet his inspection. "I will protect you so if you have any worries, I want to hear!" Hiccup forced a smile on his mouth.

"Thank-thank you," he managed and then he frowned as Snotlout approached. "He-he is your brother's son?"

"Snotlout Jorgenson, my heir," Stoick confirmed. Hiccup saw the calculating smile and nodded.

"Thank you," he repeated, with a sinking sensation in his stomach.


	7. Chapter 7: You can work for your keep

**Seven.**

Berk appeared above them, precipitous and isolated, swathed in freezing fog and the lightest of snow flurries. The docks were busy with Vikings awaiting their Chief's return and the goods they brought. The docks were connected via a zigzag ramp up to the tops of the grey cliffs and the village clustered above. Stoick and Gobber bounced onto the docks and the ship rapidly emptied. Hiccup stared up until Snotlout grabbed his arms and hauled him off.

"Come on, _Hiccup,_ " he sneered and forced the boy onwards.

"Shouldn't I…I mean…" he protested but the larger boy dragged him away from the crowd.

"The Chief is busy and he's got far more important things to deal with than a slave!" he sneered.

"Not a slave," Hiccup said stubbornly as they made the first palisade and turned up to the next level. Snotlout shoved him forward and tripped him.

"Oops! Tripped over your own feet!" Snotlout taunted him.

"Why-why would you do that?" Hiccup protested, picking himself up. Snotlout elbowed him cruelly in the ribs and he yelped.

"Because I felt like it!" the larger boy said simply. "Now come on. You need to get settled in. My Mom is gonna freak at having to deal with you."

 _Deal with him and you're find out how much trouble that little bastard is!_

The auburn-haired boy followed resignedly, his head bowed as he followed Snotlout. The larger boy cheerfully made up for any silence on Hiccup's part by talking about himself non-stop. _Ego, ego, ego…_ Hiccup found himself thinking uncharitably. But the truth was that he was dependent on their largesse, their willingness to take in an unknown who was a slave. And he had promised the Chief that he would do his best. Stoick meant it for the best, after all.

He was less certain as they arrived at the Jorgensen house. It was a fine building, not far below the level of the Chief's House and well stocked with weapons. Spitelout was out with Stoick but a large, fierce-looking woman with very dark brown hair, piercing blue-grey eyes and sharp, cold features opened the door. She scowled as the two boys walked in, then opened her arms and hugged her son: Snotlout gave a minimal attempt at resistance before enjoying her embrace.

"Aw, Mom-I haven't been gone that long!" he said in a voice betraying he enjoyed the attention.

"I always miss my son," she scolded him gently, then turned to the stranger. "And what is this?" Her tone had grown as cold as the weather and Hiccup unconsciously hunched his shoulders. Snotlout looked up and his face was unfriendly.

"Uncle Stoick bought him," he explained.

"Bought?"

"Yeah-from the local whorehouse," Snotlout explained clearly, making sure she was fully aware of his past situation. "He wanted us to give him a roof over his head and look after him."

"He's a slave?"

"Not sure, Mom," Snotlout admitted. "He was bought by Uncle Stoick but he wants him to be treated like a member of the Tribe."

"But he isn't." The words were incontrovertible. Hiccup felt his inners shrink. "I will check with your father." She looked at the boy. "In the meantime, you can work for your keep, Boy!"

"My name is Hiccup," the boy said, introducing himself and forcing his anxious green eyes to meet the polar blue-grey gaze. She stared at him as if he had spat in her floor.

"Snotty, make sure he fetches enough water and chops sufficient wood for the evening and next morning. Winter is setting in and we don't want to be going out if we get storms tonight!" Then she spun on her heel and stalked to the kitchen area and the pot, bubbling over the fire pit. The aroma smelled amazing and Hiccup found his mouth watering-but Snotlout advanced on him and shoved him to the door.

"I'll show you the well!" he offered.

oOo

His shoulders were burning and his head spinning with weariness after he had lugged the fifth large bucket of water to the house. Then Snotlout had supervised him chopping logs into kindling while chewing on a large hunk of bread and yaks milk cheese. Hiccup stared up resentfully as he put a new log on the stump. His stomach was growling so loud he was surprised that the Chief hadn't heard it-but Alva Jorgensen hadn't bothered to offer him any food. Wearily, he brought the axe round and split it in two. Then he sagged, breathing hard: he needed a break.

"We're not done," Snotlout told him as he laid the axe down.

"Please-I've been at this for hours!" Hiccup begged him. His arms felt like they would fall off completely.

"And we're not done!" the Heir told him roughly. Hiccup backed off a step.

"P-please…" he begged. "Just give me a few minutes…" Snotlout sneered at him.

"Okay-take the finished logs in and once that's done, _then_ you can finish the pile!" he snapped. Hiccup stared at him and then stole a glimpse up at the house Snotlout had boasted he would live in when he was Chief. He sighed and tossed the split logs in a basket, then manhandled it into the house. He was struggling with the third basket as Spitelout returned and the family immediately sat down to the table. Hiccup looked up and Alva pointed out at the waiting log pile. With a shrug, the boy slunk out and the sounds of chopping echoed into the main room. Alva turned to her husband.

"Why?" she demanded. Spitelout chewed his bread and dunked it in the gloriously meaty yak stew.

"Stoick asked," he said grimly.

"And the boy?"

"He was a slave," Spitelout confirmed. "Stoick found him in a whorehouse, servicing men!" The woman shuddered and cast a hateful glance at the door.

"And he expected us to associate with that… _creature_?" she sneered. "Is he trying to dishonour us? His Heir?" Spitelout shook his head.

"I think he really felt sorry for the boy," he admitted.

"But…"

"A favour to the Chief is always valuable, Alva," he reminded her. "You can see what we can get out of him. He can sleep on the floor, eat leftovers, work his wretched hands to the bone. He works during the day with Gobber in the forge so he won't be in your way."

"And if he disobeys?" Her eyes were narrow now.

"We punish him like any lad in this family!" Spitelout said. She nodded curtly.

"Good," she said grimly. "He can sleep in Snotty's room-on the floor, of course-and then at least he will get to know what it is like to have a slave."

And then the door opened and an exhausted Hiccup entered, dragging the last basket of logs in. His arms barely felt as if they belonged to him any more and his stomach was grumbling from hunger. He meekly stowed the logs then looked hopefully at the family. Alva scowled at the presumption and he backed up a pace, his face falling, but then she sighed and picked a small bowl which she ladled a single portion in. He gratefully accepted the offering, much smaller than the rest of the family had enjoyed, and stared in perplexity: he wasn't sure if he should sit at the table or eat sitting on the floor. She pointed to a small stool at the end of the table and he scooted into place, urgently shovelling the stew into his mouth before he could have it taken from him. Snotlout watched him with a smirk.

He looked up as his spoon hit the bottom of the bowl and suddenly saw the eyes inspecting him like an unwelcome insect. He flushed and tried to eat the last spoonful of his stew in a more civilised manner but all he could hear was the sniggers of Snotlout.

"Th-thank you," he muttered, his face scarlet with embarrassment. The woman gestured.

"Bowl's over there. Heat some water and wash up the plates," she ordered him. He sighed, exhausted, then rose and dutifully collected the bowls. The Jorgensons watched him heat the water and wash up the plates, then silently stow them where indicated. He dragged his exhausted shape forward. Alva gestured:

"Bed time!" she ordered. Snotlout rose and kissed his mother then nodded to his father while Hiccup hung back, unsure what he was to do.

"Erm…" he began nervously. Alva gestured brusquely.

"You are to sleep in my son's room," she said coldly and she pointed to the stairs leading down to Snotlout's basement room. Hiccup nodded, mumbled his thanks and scrambled down the ladder. Predictably, he missed his footing and fell.

Snotlout's head snapped up from his bed, where he was polishing his sword. He saw what had happened and burst out laughing. Hiccup groaned and picked himself up, rubbing his left arm, which he had landed on.

"Odin-you can't even climb down a ladder without falling flat on your face!" he scoffed.

"Thank you for your sympathy," Hiccup shot back. Snotlout's laughter snapped off and his blue eyes glinted dangerously.

"Don't be smart-slave!" he snapped. Hiccup sighed. There was no point arguing now.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" he asked directly. He was tired and hurting. Snotlout pointed to a corner.

"Where you belong!" he sneered. Hiccup sighed.

"Do I get any sort of blanket or fur?" he asked and Snotlout grabbed one from his bed and tossed it at the boy. Hiccup walked slowly forward and picked it up, then quietly dragged himself to the corner he had been assigned. Snotlout made a great show of snuggling down in his fur-laden bed while the smaller boy curled up in the corner: the walls radiated cold and he tried to scooch a little further into the room. There was a small fire and the boy longed to curl by it-so, when Snotlout had fallen asleep, he crawled to lie by the fire and finally fell asleep.

The next morning, he was shaken roughly awake and he started, his eyes popping wide open and he instinctively cringed as Alva snatched his blanket from him.

"You were told to sleep in the corner!" she hissed and cuffed at his head. He winced and ducked his head in submission.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I was just so cold…" She cuffed him again.

"Ungrateful boy!" she hissed. "Get up and fetch the water!" He sighed then nodded, wearily scrambling up and beginning to clamber up the ladder. Behind him, Alva gently tucked her own boy in tighter and gave a proud smile. She would protect her own son against any intruder and ensure the smaller boy remained in his place.

Hiccup was certainly warmer once he had finished hauling the water up, though his hands and face were very cold and his breath was coming in white clouds as he panted up the hill. He saw other teens, performing the same duty and he offered them a shy smile, though they eyed him suspiciously and refused to speak with him. With a sigh, he waited his turn at the well and dragged his load up wearily. Once he was done, he wasn't offered breakfast and was told to report to the forge. With a murmur of acknowledgement, he left, wrapped his hands around his hungry shape and heading down the hill towards the sound of loud and really off-key singing:

" _Weeeell…I've got my axe and I've got my mace and I've got my wife with the ugly face…I'm a Viking through and through…_ "

Hiccup winced. He could imagine small children crying and dogs howling in response to the awful racket but Gobber was oblivious and really going for it. Warily, the boy approached and poked his head round the corner.

"Er…hello, Gobber?" he chanced. The big blacksmith looked up from the anvil and cracked a grin.

"Laddie! I wondered when you'd pop up!" he commented. Hiccup slowly inched into the forge.

"Um…sorry? I wasn't told a start time so…"

"Well, you're here now!" Gobber cut him off and gestured with his prosthetic, which had been swapped for a heavy hammer. "Fetch yourself an apron, lad and we'll see how you do with some hot metal!"

Hiccup deftly fastened the apron and frowned as Gobber handed him a bent and twisted sword. The old blacksmith didn't say anything and the boy inclined his head, then dipped the sword into the fire and grasped the bellows. Because he was small and slight, he had to jump with his full bodyweight to work the pump and warm the fire. After a short time, the sword was glowing red and the boy carefully lifted it to the anvil, chose a hammer and began to reshape the metal. He went back and forth between the fire and the anvil, checking his work until he was happy with the shape. Finally, he quenched the metal and turned-to see Gobber standing at his shoulder, watching his technique.

"Yer really got some moves!" he complimented the boy. Hiccup inspected the work and shrugged.

"It wasn't too hard," he admitted self-consciously. Gobber clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, no other boy in Berk could do what you just did," he told Hiccup plainly. "You've fixed that sword as well as I could. I think I have certainly found the right apprentice!" The boy gave a shy grin and then his stomach growled. Gobber peered up into the sky and squinted. "Is it that time already?" he muttered. The boy stared at the floor. Gobber elbowed him. "Yer fancy lunch?" he asked. Hiccup sighed.

"I-I didn't bring anything…" he muttered. Gobber stared at him.

"Didn't they tell ye?" he asked in surprise. "Here in Berk, there is food in the Great Hall morning noon and evening. With dragon attacks and the loss of men and homes, it is the best way for the village to keep fed. You can always eat in the Hall." Hiccup blinked and looked up.

"Do I qualify as well?" he asked warily. "They…don't seem to think I am worthy. They treat me like a servant…" Gobber's eyes narrowed and he stared at the boy. "Not that I'm not grateful for a roof and food…of course…" he said quickly. "And-and I am not afraid of hard work…" The blacksmith clapped the boy on the shoulder and he almost fell over.

"I can see that, Hiccup," the boy said gently. "Let's go and have a break!" The old blacksmith draped a kind arm around the boy's shoulders and led him all the way up to the Hall, a huge space carved out of the mountain that formed the upper village. The long stair had both of them puffing as they reached the hall and Gobber led them in and showed the lad how to help himself to the meal. They had just sat down when the boy groaned as he heard Snotlout's unmistakeable tones as he sneered at the smaller boy.

"What's he doing here?"

"Pay him no mind!" Gobber advised, tucking into a leg of mutton. Hiccup stared up and saw Snotlout glaring at him, his eyes calculating. He guessed the boy's parents would hear of his trip to the Hall and adjust his rations accordingly. He sighed. One small bowl of stew the previous day, a single meal today…He wasn't going to grow out of being small anytime soon! With a small hint of defiance, he walked up and helped himself to seconds. If he was going to have to endure lodgings with the Jorgensons, he might as well fill his belly: he doubted they would feed him again today.


	8. Chapter 8: Standing up and beaten down

**Eight.**

He had been right. Alva had been offended he had eaten at the Great Hall (though she had not bothered to supply him with any breakfast or lunch) and had offered only scraps at dinner. The hungry boy had willingly eaten them after a couple of hours of chores that they had forced out of him. Fetching water, chopping wood, cleaning, relaying the fires, polishing the weapons…there was little that Hiccup wasn't expected to do to pay for his meagre lodgings. The second night, he was forced to sleep in the cold corner and though he crawled to the fireside, he was dragged back to his place in the middle of the night.

His days settled into a dull rhythm: waking before Snotlout to fetch water and do chores; working at the forge; eating at the Great Hall; back for more chores and then bed after being given only what scraps were left from the family's supper. He sighed. It was better than nothing though he knew it wasn't what he had hoped-or what Stoick had implied. But Berk was slipping inexorably into winter and no traders would be coming in or boats going out until the spring so Hiccup was trapped on Berk.

He was also a little hurt that he hadn't seen Stoick since his arrival. Despite his promises, the big Chief had been busy on the other side of the village and with Chiefly duties. Hiccup had seen him across the plaza or at the far end of the Great Hall, sitting at the top table with the Elders. He had actually heard the Chief stop by the forge as he had been occupied at the back but when he had come scurrying through, the Chief was already striding away and the lad hadn't the courage or confidence to call after him. But the dismay on his face had been obvious for Gobber to see and the blacksmith had tried to reassure the boy that his friend had asked after the lad.

Nine days after the return, there was a rest day, when Hiccup was allowed not to go to the forge. Spitelout had told Snotlout that the boy should take the newcomer with him to introduce the lad to his friends. Snotlout had scowled at the order but his eyes had narrowed and Hiccup, who had suffered a few 'pranks' during his stay, began to get concerned. But Snotlout had always appeared dutiful and co-operative to his parents and he cheerfully led the smaller boy out of the house. Hiccup shivered: Alva had confiscated his fur vest, informing him it was too good for him to wear. Then he sighed. There was nothing he could do to protest.

They walked down the village to the plaza where four other teens were waiting. Hiccup glanced up with interest for he had seen them while collecting water at the well in the mornings-though none of them had made any effort to speak with him. There was a large, husky boy with fair hair, rather short legs compared to his height and a slightly timid though enthusiastic face. There were a brother and sister (twins?) who both had long blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. The girl's was in braids, the boy's free. Their clothes and helmets matched and they seemed in a constant state of argument. The fourth teen took his breath away: a slender and beautiful young woman with cool azure eyes and blonde hair in a tight braid over her left shoulder and bangs over her left eye, a leather headband and panelled leather skirt over the leggings reinforcing her impression of a serious shield-maiden-in-waiting. Her face was cool and irritated at the antics of the others and her movements precise and measured. She held an axe tightly.

"Hey guys," Snotlout greeted them. "This is Hiccup!" He gestured to the smaller boy, an inch or so shorter even than the blonde shield maiden. There was an outbreak of laughing.

"Hiccup?" the male twin scoffed. "How perfect is that?"

"You got it, Tuff!" Snotlout agreed, his eyes cruel. "Someone was mean naming him for what he is."

"You-you know that _Hiccup_ references the runt of the litter-a mistake or error?" the large husky boy offered helpfully.

"Why no, no one has ever mentioned that to me. Ever!" Hiccup shot back sarcastically and cringed inwardly. _Way to make friends! Sarcasm never fails, right?_ The female twin scowled.

"Someone's snarky!" she snapped.

"Yeah, Ruff-you should see him," Snotlout said with a long-suffering sigh. "Eats like a pig, falls over his feet, only good for fetching and carrying…and even then, he tends to drop stuff."

"Is he good for anything?" Tuff asked. Snotlout grinned.

"Well…" he began. Hiccup lurched forward.

"Snotlout-please," he murmured urgently. The larger boy gave a nasty smile.

"Well, the Chief bought him from a whorehouse," he said clearly. There was a silence and every eye focussed on the skinny shape, in his stained and patched clothes, fading bruises on his face and dishevelled auburn hair. Hiccup cringed and stared at the hard ground, scuffing his heel self-consciously.

"Wait-bought? As in…slave?" the husky boy asked, his eyes round with shock.

"Whoa, dude-whorehouse?" Tuff butted in, his eyes calculating. "As in…whores?" Snotlout nodded, enjoying the smaller boy's deep blush of embarrassment.

"Does that mean you've done it?" Ruff asked directly, her eyes inspecting the skinny shape closely. Hiccup cringed further.

"Oh, yeah," Snotlout announced loudly. "He's taken a good number of men up his…"

"SNOTLOUT!" Hiccup snapped. The conversation wasn't about to help him, to introduce him to anyone and achieve anything except confirming his place as an outsider. The larger boy rounded on him, his eyes glittering and expression ugly.

"You are a slave and you are a prostitute and they deserve to know that!" he hissed at Hiccup, the hatred in his expression causing the smaller boy to freeze. His emerald eyes darkened with hurt at the words-true but brutal. "And I bet my Uncle only brought you back so that he could bend you over and ride your scrawny little ass!"

Hiccup leapt for him, his low centre of gravity and anger carrying Snotlout to the ground. The smaller boy sat on his chest and rained punches on his head and neck-not powerful but enough to split a lip and cause Snotlout to call out in shock and anger. And then the twins moved, leaping forward and grabbing Hiccup's skinny arms to drag him off the surprised and enraged Snotlout. He struggled fiercely, his legs kicking desperately and arms pulling against the stronger twins. Snotlout rose, rubbed his chin and inspected the blood on his fingers. He jerked his head and the boy was dragged away from the plaza and into an alley between two buildings. Hiccup stared up into the vengeful blue eyes.

"You-you shouldn't have spoken against the Chief like that!" he panted, breathing hard now from fear rather than anger.

"Stay out of this!" Snotlout called to the husky boy and the blonde goddess and they stared for a second as if contemplating helping, then walked away, leaving the pinioned Hiccup at the mercy of the others. "You…should not have done that."

"Does p-poor Snottykins need this friends to-to fight his battles for him?" Hiccup taunted him, knowing he was facing a beating. At least he would have more of a chance if the twins let him go! But their grips tightened fiercely and he whimpered.

"You can't speak properly. You keep falling over. You have no strength, no family, no friends. You're just…Useless!" he shot back.

"Coward!" Hiccup challenged him.

The fist that smashed into his face snapped his head back and he felt blood erupt from his mouth. He struggled as Snotlout's fists flew again, slamming into his chest and gut, slamming the breath from his body and crushing his defiant words. It wasn't long before the twins were just holding him up and when they dropped him, kicks started jabbing into his back and guts. Finally, they walked away, laughing and Hiccup just curled up, his face buried in the crook of his elbow and sobs wracking his battered shape with pain.

He lay on the dirt for a long time, hidden from view, his small shape curled up in an effort to hug away the pain. Finally, he pushed himself up to sit on his haunches and wonder just what he had done that was so wrong. Snotlout had just started to make fun of him and hadn't introduced him to any of the others: he wasn't sure what any of their names were. Sure, he had been sarcastic when the big boy had made the usual crack about his name but what else could he say? No one had said anything welcoming to the stranger or asked him anything about himself…and then Snotlout had revealed where he had come from. The slur on the Chief, who had saved him, was the last straw.

He slowly levered himself to his feet. He had taken far worse beatings for far less worthy reasons. He owed Stoick everything and he regretted nothing. And then he stood and his head spun and he felt a flutter of fear. He had jumped Snotlout. Oh gods. The boy whose room he shared. The boy whose parents barely tolerated his existence. The boy who could beat or kill him at will as he slept. He stole a longing glance up the hill: but Stoick had asked him to stay with them. He had to obey the man he owed so much to. So he squared his shoulders, wrapped his arms around his cold shape and limped slowly down the hill to Snotlout's home.

Had he looked up the hill again, he would have seen the huge, flame-haired shape that stopped as it saw his hunched shape, wandering slowly to his lodgings. Stoick almost shouted out but the boy seemed deep in thought as he returned to his new home. The Chief sighed. He felt guilty that he hadn't seen the lad as he had promised but the village had been so busy and he had genuinely meant to drop by. He had stopped once at the forge but as he had been asking about the boy, news of more yak-tipping had reached him and he had steamed off in search of the culprits. And that had been…over a week ago. The boy must have felt abandoned. He resolved to do something about the problem that day.

Hiccup pushed the door open quietly and tried to slip into the house but he was met by the stony faces of Alva and Spitelout, with Snotlout sitting quietly behind them, a nasty smile on his face. Hiccup pushed the door closed and faced them.

"What?" he asked slowly. Spitelout scowled.

"You attacked Snotlout!" Hiccup gaped.

"He insulted me and…er…someone else who wasn't there to defend himself," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to bring Stoick into the whole thing: he knew it wouldn't end well for someone…probably Hiccup.

"And you attacked him!"

"Um…what kind of Viking runs back to whine to his Mommy?" Hiccup asked them directly. "Or gets two people to hold his smaller opponent helpless as he beats them up? Shouldn't…say…the Heir to Berk be a bit more decent? Honourable? Brave? _Able to sort his own problems_?" Spitelout slapped him and the unexpected blow knocked him to the floor. He sat, looking up in shock, his left hand clamped to his stinging cheek.

"A Chief has his protectors!"

"And he's supposed to the _best_ of his village!" Hiccup shot back. Spitelout dragged him up only to slap him so hard he went down again.

"My son is no coward!" Hiccup stared up, breathing hard at the patently untrue claim.

"And yet he came to get you to speak to me instead of dealing with me," Hiccup accused, his sarcasm obvious. "Oh, wait…look at these bruises! He _already_ dealt with me…yet he still wants Mommy and Daddy to sort me out as well. Yeah-I think that's pretty much a coward!" Alva hissed in rage at his accusation.

"I don't think a nameless slave and man-whore should start slinging insults because there are so many more we can attach to you!" she shouted, lurching towards the small shape. "Weak, lazy, stupid, disobedient, greedy, ungrateful, ugly, friendless, despised, outcast…scum!" Hiccup flinched: he couldn't help it but the tirade was filled with such vitriol the words broke over him like a blow. He had done _everything_ they asked of him: slaving away at chores, sleeping in the coldest corner, denied food and warmth and the merest word of welcome and friendship. His eyes shone with hurt. Then Spitelout dragged him up and hauled him to the table, slamming the boy forward over the board.

He screamed, the memories it provoked so intense and so painful that he couldn't resist. _The feel of Sundby, pushing him down, tearing into his resisting body. and savouring his screams and pleas for clemency The nameless Viking, pounding into his beaten shape. The men in the old town, pawing and feeling every inch of his body, threatening so much more…_ He struggled pitifully but Spitelout pressed his head so hard against the wood that he couldn't move. He whimpered and his mouth almost moved in a plea but Spitelout had already unfastened his belt and wrapped one end around his fist.

"You're not my type, boy!" he snarled. "Now learn not to disobey me!" And he slashed the belt across the skinny, writhing body, hearing the scream of pain and fear. Alva watched with a cruel smile on her face and Snotlout remained still, grateful his father hadn't credited his cowardly actions and turned on him. Spitelout was a very powerful man and the beating was swift, brutal and effective. Only a dozen blows, but more than enough to reduce Hiccup to a weeping mess, a little curled shape sobbing incoherently on the floor after he had been released. When he was ordered down to his bed-without food or water-he silently obeyed, his face bruised from the slaps and eyes red from weeping. He curled up miserably in his cold corner, wrapped himself in the thin blanket and wished he was somewhere else.

Gobber noticed the change in his apprentice in the forge. He had wanted to ask if the boy had enjoyed his rest day but it was patently obvious the lad had anything but. The bruises on his face, the split lip, the way he moved showing he had endured some harsh treatment…all told the blacksmith that someone had treated the boy badly. Hiccup-who had been developing a suitably informal relationship with his boss and was relaxing in his presence-was stiff as a board, scared to say anything and timid.

 _Gods damn it-someone has shot his confidence to Hel!_ Gobber realised angrily and, on a hunch, jostled the boy as he walked past, sending him against the wall. As his back impacted, the boy screamed and collapsed to his knees, huddled up and struggling to control his pain. The blacksmith hauled him up, took him to the back and quietly untied his apron, then flipped up the tattered tunic. The scarlet welts were obvious across the scored skin. As was the fact that Hiccup was grimy, even skinnier and dressed in the same blood-stained and filthy clothes he had left the port in. He huddled up and tried to make himself as small as he could.

"Laddie, what's wrong?" Gobber asked him softly. The boy lifted his face and there was misery on his expression.

"It…it's not fair," he mumbled. "I-I do something actually right and next thing I know I'm getting beaten up by Snotlout then beaten by his Dad because he's such an Odin-damned coward!" Gobber frowned.

"But…but why would Snotlout beat you up?" he asked.

"Because…I punched him," Hiccup admitted. Gobber gaped and stared at the small boy harder. Hiccup was really skinny and everything the blacksmith had seen about the boy had indicated that he was very cautious and wary, preferring to avoid conflict…except his sarcastic sense of humour, which only emerged once he was sure he was safe…or as a last defiant gesture when he was lost.

"Yer must have had a good reason…" he prompted. Hiccup pulled this tunic down and sighed.

"I did," he admitted. Gobber glared at him. The boy also tended to be stubborn and a bit defiant and that wasn't what he sought. He leaned closer.

"And that was…?" he growled. The boy stiffened and he sagged in defeat.

"He insulted the Chief," he said in a small voice. Gobber gaped. "He said he only freed me from that…place…so he could have sex with me." Gobber's jaw dropped. That was a bad insult to lay against the Chief. "So I knocked him down and hit him. And then two of his friends dragged me off and held me still as he beat me to a pulp. And then, when I finally picked myself up and got home, he had whined to his parents so his father belted me." The description was matter-of-fact enough to have the blacksmith frowning: the boy had just accepted the cruel treatment.

"You did the right thing in protecting the Chief's honour," Gobber said. Hiccup nodded.

"That's why I'm with them, isn't it?" he said baldly. "Not because he wanted me to have a family…I'm certain there are a hundred better families to put me with…but because he was told his reputation would be ruined having a bed slave he's just bought staying in his home. But why did he have to put me with _them_?" The last words were a frustrated cry against the world.

"Spitelout is his brother…well, half-brother," he admitted. "He's also father to Stoick's heir because his wife and son died in the birth and he never remarried. Gossips say now it's because he doesn't seek women…" Hiccup inspected the ground closely, lifting the hem of his tunic and seeing fresh spots of blood there.

"He…came in when I was being…you know…" he said after a long and awkward pause. "I was screaming and terrified. Everything hurt. _Everything._ I was helpless and lost. And he came in and pulled him off me and _saved me_!" He looked up and his emerald eyes were shimmering with tears. "After that, I would lie outside his front door in the frost if he asked me. I wouldn't mind being alone most of the time-or almost all of it-if I could see him just occasionally. I would be happy to cook and clean and serve him. I would do anything he asked…even…that, if he asked…" His voice had grown small and ashamed. "But I couldn't let Snotlout malign him so badly when he had done so much for me."

"Has he spoken to you since you returned?" Gobber asked gently, wrapping his arm around the boy and hugging him against him. Hiccup shook his head, not resisting the embrace.

"Have-have I done something wrong?" he asked quietly. His eyes were pleading.

"Not that I know, lad," Gobber told him, cursing his friend's inability to prioritise anything personal over the village. "I guess he's just been busy, preparing for the winter. Work does tend to pile up if you're away for any length of time-and we were gone for hard on three weeks!" Hiccup leaned against him for a long moment and then he sighed: it was very feasible. So he forced himself to brighten up a little and slowly levered himself to his feet.

"Those axes won't make themselves," he said quietly. "And I need to perfect that way of making edges you showed me, Gobber. And maybe…could I have lunch with you?" The plea was there again and Gobber guessed-correctly-that the boy had forfeited his dinner and breakfast as part of his 'punishment'. Sometimes, his friend really did make poor choices and he smiled to reassure the boy, already plotting to get Hiccup away from the Jorgensons.


	9. Chapter 9: The Chief's Visit

**Nine.**

When Hiccup got back that night, Alva was waiting for him with a scowl and he automatically wondered what he had done wrong now. The woman gestured impatiently.

"About time!" she snapped. "Heat some water and get yourself washed up. Hands and face at the least-and sort out that bird's nest you call hair!" Hiccup stared at her and she started towards him before he flinched and scrambled to the buckets, finding water and putting it to heat. She handed him a small soap and warned him not to use it all before turning to the spit. A boar was roasting and his quick emerald gaze picked out the fur vest, folded neatly on the stairs. He sighed: it was obvious what was happening. Stoick was coming to dinner.

Hiccup scrubbed his face, neck and arms as hard as he could, then ducked his hair in the water and tried to wash it but he guessed he only made it worse. He rinsed it as best he could and finger combed it until it looked at least as if it was pointing in the correct direction. Then he rose, pulled his tunic straight and took the water out, rinsing the bowl and wiping it dry. Alva peered at him and delivered her verdict: "Pathetic."

He shouldn't have winced, he shouldn't have felt the word like a slap in his bruised face but he did. The dismissal from this cold-hearted woman made him feel ten times worse and he knew she could bad-mouth him to the Chief in such a way that the man would be ashamed of him. That he may not want anything further to do with the boy. Then he felt a ferocious grip on his shoulder and he winced-to stare into her vicious gaze, mere inches from his face,

"You say one word out of place, boy, and I swear to Odin that you will regret being here and wish you were back in the whorehouse, being fucked by every pervert!" she hissed. He felt his throat freeze and his eyes widen. He didn't doubt she could make his life a merry hell-well, she and the rest of her wretched family. _And he was stuck on Berk until Spring._

He nodded frantically.

"But he brought me here," he protested quietly. "He may want to know if I've been badly treated..." She backhanded him to the floor and he pressed his hand to the welt, blinking.

"Do you think he's believe you over us?" she breathed. "You look scruffy and a disgrace. My son is the Heir to the Tribe. If he says you are a menace, a disgrace...then do you think the Chief will choose some wretched whore over his own blood?" He swallowed.

"He asked me to tell him if I had any problems," he reminded her warily. She laughed out loud at him.

"And how many times has he seen you, spoken to you since you arrived?" she scoffed. "Not one word since we landed. Do you think he _cares_ for you, slave? He'll barely speak a word to you-and only because he is a great and generous man!" Then she lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder hard. "You speak out of line and do you think you can escape my son or my husband? They will find you and make you regret your birth. And I will be watching!" He shuddered in fear and bowed his head, then nodded.

"I...understand..." he whispered. Then she handed him the fur vest and he scrambled painfully to his feet.

"Put it on. He will expect you to wear it," she said. Then she cuffed him on the back of the head. "Stand up properly. He's the Chief. Answer him politely. Don't speak out of turn. Smile. Or I'll give you something to cry about." And she shoved him to stand by Snotlout as the door knocked and Stoick the Vast entered the house. Hiccup dropped his head and inspected the floor carefully, his green eyes wary. He heard Stoick and Spitelout exchange warm greetings and the polite introduction of Alva. The Chief's tone indicated that he didn't really care for the woman either. He stole a glance under his messy auburn hair and saw the Chief move on to greet his Heir, exchanging a joking greeting. Hiccup dropped his eyes again. His heart was racing and breathing so shallow he could scarcely catch his breath as the Chief moved in front of him. He peeked up.

"Hiccup," Stoick said. He looked up, his eyes wary and hopeful-and he saw Stoick smile down on him. The Chief saw the eyes brighten and opened his arms. "Boy?" The invitation was very plain. And he flung himself into he proffered embrace, his head burying in the Chief's chest and skinny arms stretching around his huge girth. The man's arms tightened fiercely around the boy and then raised to stroke the messy hair. "I'm sorry I haven't seen you sooner," he murmured. The boy raised his face, his expression utterly forgiving in his relief that the Chief hadn't completely abandoned him.

"No, I am just honoured that you thought of me at all," he said, his tone happy. He squeezed again. "Thank you so much for bringing me here." Then he let the Chief go and stood back meekly. He could feel Alva's eyes boring into him and he knew she had not realised that the Chief harboured him any sort of regard. Soon they were seated at the table and Hiccup found himself between Snotlout and Spitelout, as far as they could put him from the Chief. But at least he was given the same food as the others, choice cuts of the roast boar, steamed grains and baked apples. Watered ale was provided for the boys, unwatered for the adults and the conversation flowed. Stoick and Spitelout had similar but different opinions and Hiccup found himself listening carefully to the Chief and agreeing with his reasoning. Stock was inflexible and decisive but nowhere near as narrow-minded or stupid as Spitelout and he found himself admiring the big man more and more.

"So, Hiccup-how are you being treated here?" The Chief's voice was jovial but the boy found Snotlout was suddenly gripping his leg hard. The young man lifted his head and fashioned a fake smile.

"Like a son," he said evenly.

 _Yeah-the younger, scrawny, disappointing, unwanted one._

"Well, that's good," Stoick said, draining his mug. Snotlout cheerfully refilled it. "Has Snotlout introduced you to the others?"

"Erm…we've met," Hiccup said carefully.

"Uncle Stoick, I've taken him to meet all my friends," Snotlout said, cheerily.

"Yeah, that was fun," Hiccup murmured, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.

"And you are getting on okay with Gobber?" Hiccup paused and this time his smile was genuine.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "I cannot thank you enough for that chance." Stoick looked up at his tone and smiled back: the boy looked at peace for that one moment. Then he shoved his chair back and stretched.

"I'll sit for a few moments, if I may," he asked. Alva nodded and went to fetch some mead. Then she turned and motioned to the boys.

"Bid the Chief goodnight!" she ordered them. Stoick looked up as Snotlout waved and Hiccup, who was already being pushed away by the larger boy, gave a final smile.

"Thank you," he said as he was shoved down the ladder to the basement. As soon as he was out of sight, Snotlout fell on him and punched him hard.

"You've got a smart mouth, slave boy!" he sneered. He shoved Hiccup to the floor. "And my Mom heard too!" Hiccup backed up, not daring to call out. He retreated to his corner as he heard the goodbyes, as he heard the door slam and the hope of rescue vanish. Then he heard Spitelout call and Hiccup was ordered upstairs. He warily climbed the stairs-to find his hands grasped. his vest was unceremoniously dragged off and his wrists roped tightly. he struggled, his eyes wide with panic. He hated being retrained: it brought back too many memories of his slavery and especially the Captain and his sadistic punishments.

"Please!" he begged. He had almost been happy, spending time with the Chief, listening to his calm, gruff voice. He had been warm and his stomach had been full and he almost felt included. He had forgotten that he was the unwanted slave, the cuckoo that Alva saw in her nest. The woman ruthlessly threw the boy across the room and he slammed to the floor, back by the log pile. She swooped forward, tying the end of the rope to one of the supporting beams and then turning to her husband. Hiccup struggled, caught on his side and helpless as the woman took the belt from her husband and brought it down across his skinny body. He gave a pained scream as she closed on him and raised her hand again.


	10. Chapter 10: Warm and Comfortable

**Ten.**

Gobber was astonished when Snotlout dropped a message in the next day that Hiccup had quit. Astonished and annoyed-and very puzzled. The previous day, the boy had been enthusiastic, trying a new technique and shrugging off the wounds from his beating. His craftsmanship had just been making itself known and the boy had been chattering excitedly about how he was planning to improve his axe-making techniques. He had left smiling, laughing and had waved happily at his boss before he had walked up the hill to his lodging. And now…he quit? When the forge was the only thing that gave his life meaning and joy?

Snotlout had been smirking as he delivered the message. Gobber gave a shudder: he didn't trust Snotlout with Hiccup's safety-especially after what Hiccup had told him. The Heir was a nasty piece of work-that was for sure-and the tale of his malice and cowardice had scared the blacksmith. Something felt very wrong. So he pulled down the shutters, scanned the village and went on search of the Chief.

It took him two hours to locate Stoick, who had been out on a remote farm, marrying a young couple. The Chief was a man who took his duties seriously, always performed weddings himself and that tended to take him out of town and all over the island of Berk. Fortunately, he had headed straight back after the simple ceremony and had been met by his friend with a concerned look on his face. Gobber was determined and cornered the Chief the moment he set foot back in town. The blacksmith was straight to the point.

"Yer saw Hiccup yesterday, didn't you?" he said. Stock nodded. He looked uncomfortable.

"I knew I should have gone sooner but I got busy. I know, Gobber," he replied wearily. "But the lad seemed pleased to see me."

"Did he talk about quitting?" Gobber asked directly.

"The forge? No,, he looked genuinely happy to work there," Stoick said. "He was smiling-that little happy smile he had when you made him his apprentice. He thanked me." Then he paused. "But he wasn't so happy when I arrived. He looked beaten down." Gobber frowned.

"Yeah-he hasn't had it easy with the Jorgensons." Stoick scowled. "Yeah-I know they're kin, Stoick-but he ain't _their_ kin and he's slaving and suffering there. I worry for the lad."

"Gobber, I know that you never agreed with housing the boy there but…"

"Stoick-Snotlout said _he quit_!" Gobber argued. "Hiccup was so keen to work with me. He was really talented and loved learning to work metal. And he was happy."

"I can't understand the mind of a boy…though Alva Jorgensen said he was lazy and defiant," Stoick admitted. Gobber scowled.

"Does that _sound_ like the boy we both know?" he asked.

"She sees him every day in their home…" Stoick suggested. Gobber snorted.

"I see him every day in the forge and I can tell yer he ain't lazy and he ain't defiant!" he shot back. "The lad works really hard, never shirking and always completing tasks. He ain't afraid of hard work-you remember him on the ship?" Stoick nodded. "And defiant? That doesn't sound like the beaten down, trembling boy you first showed me! He may make the odd smart comment but he'll bow his head and avoid conflict because he's scared of being hurt!" Stoick nodded.

"I know," he muttered. Gobber sighed.

"And he was such a decent boy, so grateful for his opportunity in the forge that if he really had to quit for some reason, he would come himself to explain and apologise. If he quit. But I doubt he did." Stoick stared down the hill and took off. Gobber stared after him.

"Okay…I'll follow at me own pace, shall I?" he said to the man's rapidly retreating back.

Stoick reached the Jorgensen house and hammered on the door. After a few moments, Alva opened the door and found the Chief pushing past her.

"Where is he?" he demanded. She blinked.

"They're both out," she replied smoothly. "My husband at the docks and Snotlout is training. He takes his upcoming responsibilities very seriously…"

"Hiccup!" Stoick insisted. She gave a short laugh.

"That little slave!" she sneered. "He's a lazy, ungrateful bastard! He shirks his duties, attacks my son and dishonours our house! I have no idea where that brat is! He ran out this morning and he won't be back until tonight. He stole food and…" Stoick walked past her.

"Shut up!" he snarled.

"Stoick, I speak as I find!" she snapped. "I'm sorry, Chief, but that little bastard has fooled you all. He's a defiant and sarcastic boy who takes and doesn't give anything in return…"

"HICCUP!" he bellowed. HICCUP!"

"He's not here!" she insisted.

"Hiccup!" He peered around the hut and strode to the basement. He shot down the ladder and inspected the room, his quick eyes seeing the warm and comfy bed assigned to the son and Heir-and the pathetic blanket in the furthest corner that marked the sleeping place of the guest. He clambered back up to the main floor and looked around. There was nothing obvious but he knew the boy was here. He walked towards the back of the house.

"Hiccup?" he called softly.

"I tell you he's not…"

He shushed her as she made to speak and heard it: a faint thump and a moan. He swung his head and shushed her again then walked towards the sound. Behind the dresser and wedged behind the log pile, the Chief found Hiccup, his hands roped painfully above his head and tied to a shelf at floor level, forcing the boy to lie down, a gag across his mouth and blood from welts smeared over his back. Stoick turned to the woman.

"Get his vest," he commanded. "The vest I gave him. NOW!" As she left, he walked forward and stared down at the battered boy. His terrified green eyes were wide as the Chief leaned forward and pulled the gag from his mouth. He gave a gasp and Stoick's face dropped as he registered the split lip, the heavy bruising from slaps and punches. The boy's legs flailed and then he tucked them under his body as he tried to curl away. A small kick had been what he heard. Then he cut the rope.

"Th-thanks," Hiccup gasped. clutching his numb arms to his middle, his back burning with the beating. "I-I think…" Stoick hunkered down.

"I-I had no idea, son," he said gruffly. Hiccup closed his eyes.

"No," he murmured. "They were very good at making it look like my fault…" He hunched up tighter. Stoick stared at him.

" _What happened?"_ he asked gently. Hiccup swallowed.

"I-I spoke to you and didn't say what they wanted," he said quietly. "I tried to tell you the truth." He flinched. "I may have made a comment about meeting Snotlout's friends." Stoick frowned. "I kinda…got into a fight…" he admitted ashamedly. The Chief's brow furrowed further. "He didn't introduce me to _anyone_. All he did was tell them what I was in the port and then make a horrible comment…about you." He stared at the floor. "So I might have jumped him and hit him in the face…" Stoick's mouth fell open.

"You did what?" Hiccup cringed away at the tone.

"Don't worry," he said with a twisted smile, "I got what I deserved. Snotlout's friends pulled me off and held me helpless and he beat the Hel out of me. And then he ran home to his Mommy and Daddy and they belted me to make sure I knew not to hurt their precious _Snottykins_!" His tone was dripping sarcasm but the look in his eyes was desolate. He guessed that he had alienated the Chief and that was the worst thing he could do. He turned his head away.

And froze as a hand gently rested on his shoulder, then lifted his chin and forced the boy to look at him.

"They did what?"

"After the fight was over-I lost impressively, by the way-he went to his parents and they beat me with a belt because I had fought with their son," he repeated quietly. Stoick stared into the miserable green eyes.

"And what did he say?" The Chief's voice was low. Hiccup swallowed-his throat was dry because they hadn't given him any food or water since he was tied up the previous night-and flushed bright red.

"He said…he said that you had only bought me from the port so you could have sex with me," he revealed ashamedly. "And I-I knew I was staying with them because you didn't want it to look like that. So I was putting up with them and he was _still_ maligning you and you weren't there to counter it so I did." He sighed. "I'm sorry," he added. Stoick's eyes hardened and the boy stared at the ground. The Chief forced his face round to look at him again.

"I'm not," he said reassuringly. He rose and offered his hand but Hiccup painfully slid his legs under his body and with a grimace of pain, he hauled his beaten shape to his feet. He swayed but lifted his chin and walked haltingly out of the little space and into the main part of the house.

Alva was there and he instantly cringed, his body tensing and eyes widening. Stoick immediately laid a hand on his shoulder and steered him past the vicious woman, taking the fur vest from her hands. "I would thank you for your consideration or ask if he has any other things to collect, but I think we both know the answer. He hasn't been washed, he hasn't been given any clothes and he hasn't even got a bed. So please convey my disappointment to Spitelout that he was unable to extend the hospitality he promised to this young man who is in my protection!" The Chief's words were stinging as he steered the boy out of the house and marched Hiccup up the hill. The boy's eyes widened as they headed up the stairs towards the Chief's House. His legs ground to a halt and the Chief paused and turned to look at the boy.

"Um…are we going there?" he asked worriedly. Stoick nodded gravely, reading uncertainty and fear in the boy's face.

"It is my home," he explained.

"And I was placed with…them…because you couldn't take me there," Hiccup pointed out slowly.

"Well…"

"They said…I would shame you. Cause you harm by just being there." The boy's voice was toneless but the anxiety was bubbling in his stomach.

"About that…" Hiccup stared up at the man's face and felt worry jolt through him. The man was looking embarrassed. "I think it was the wrong decision."

Hiccup froze and wrapped his arms around his body. _A mistake. He had endured all those horrible days there…the cold, the hunger, the cruel words, the beatings…as a mistake._

He couldn't talk. Scratch that-he _shouldn't_ say anything because he might just possibly say something so stupid and reckless that he would anger the Chief and then gods only know where he would be. But his face betrayed him and said everything for him. Stoick's brows dipped and Hiccup bowed his head, his stomach lurching in dismay and fear. He hunched his shoulders, expecting a blow or the tsunami of rage. _Here it comes…_

A gentle hand landing on his shoulder had the boy opening his eyes and peeking from under his hair at the big face inches from his. "I'm sorry, son," Stoick said. "You shouldn't have had to endure what they put you through. They promised to treat you like a member of the family."

"Yeah-the member everyone wishes hadn't been born," Hiccup muttered before he could stop himself. He winced. Stoick's scowl deepened.

"A Viking's life isn't easy," he reminded the lad. He winced.

"No, sir," he said defeatedly.

"And hardship is something we all have to face," Stoick continued. Hiccup stared at the floor, convinced he had shamed the Chief. That he was being cast off.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"Laddie!" His head snapped up and he stared as Gobber panted up. "Finally! Stoick-yer could have waited for me!" The boy swallowed as the blacksmith frowned and inspected him. "I was worried about yer, boy. When yer quit as my apprentice…" Hiccup stared and his face jerked into a desperate expression.

"Quit? No, no, no, no!" he gabbled urgently. "No, Gobber-please, _PLEASE_ believe me! I didn't quit. I don't want to stop being your apprentice. It's the only time I'm ever happy here! Please-I'll work longer, I'll stop having lunch breaks. Give me whatever hard jobs you want-just don't give my post away. _PLEASE!_ " The pleading tone would have melted the hardest heart as the battered boy jerked forward and grabbed the big blacksmith's hand. "Please." Gobber smiled, staring into the wide, pleading green eyes.

"Don't get yer skivvies in a twist, boy-I didn't believe it," he reassured Hiccup. "That's why I found Stoick here!" Hiccup stared up at the big man-then across to the Chief. He was still breathing hard, his panicked response very unVikinglike and the boy feared he had shamed himself in front of the Chief.

"And that's why the boy needs to stay with me," Stoick said quietly. "It's clear the boy has been the victim of some cruel treatment and nasty tricks. For the Jorgensons to say that he was quitting the only part of his life he enjoyed is a cruel and vicious act. It's plain-even without Hiccup's comment which I _did_ hear, by the way- that Snotlout has made no effort to help him meet the others his own age. And, I suspect, he has done everything to make life harder for the boy. And I am concerned because they have a number of friends and allies and seem to have done a good job poisoning some of the other elders against Hiccup. I am really not sure anyone else would treat him better." Gobber cleared his throat. "Except you."

"Thanks," the blacksmith said dryly.

"Hiccup, I truly want you to make your home with me," the Chief said. "I never felt sending you to my brother's family was the best option but I was persuaded it was for the best. And it clearly wasn't. I am so sorry, son. Please, trust me." He dropped to a knee and the boy stared into the big face. Then he flung himself against the big man's chest and buried his face, his arms tightening around Stoick's neck. The Chief could feel him sobbing as he closed his arms around the boy and hugged him gently, gently stroking his back. "Hardship is something all Vikings have to face but you have already faced far more than you should. I never wanted to add to it."

Hiccup looked up, sniffing and wiping at his face with his filthy sleeve.

"I know," he admitted softly. Stoick rose, his arm around the boy as he guided Hiccup up to the fine house, then in through the door. The boy stared at the large space in the house, the wide firepit, the table and chairs, the huge Chief's chair that was draped with fine furs, the storage and kitchen area at the back, the partition to the area where the Chief slept, the stairs running up the side of the house to the platform that formed the small loft space.

"Welcome home," Stoick said. Hiccup swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. _Home._ Nowhere had been home since his aunt and uncle died, since before he was made a slave. He blinked hard against the burning in his eyes and then became aware that the Chief was expecting him to say something.

"Um…thanks?" he said, his voice showing he was feeling overwhelmed. Stoick led him up the stairs and the boy wondered what was going on. And then he froze.

The loft was a small bedroom, a small bed against one wall with pillows, sheets and a large warm pile of blankets and furs. A small table carried a pewter jug and a wooden mug. A candle was stuck in a holder. Against the other wall was a table, a shelf and a stool. Stoick looked self-conscious.

"It's-it's not much but it should be warm and comfortable," he mumbled. Hiccup gaped and then turned to the Chief.

"Th-thank you," he choked. "It's perfect…" And then he flung himself against Stoick and hugged him again. The Chief patted him helplessly: he wasn't sure what to say as the boy breathed raggedly. Finally Hiccup raised his battered face and swiped the tears away. "Sorry," he said roughly. "I-I didn't mean to embarrass you, sir, but this is the first place I could call home, the first space that could be mine since I lost my family." His voice was very small and the Chief felt ashamed at his irritation: it was easy to forget, here on Berk, how poorly the boy had been faring in the port.

"It's okay, son," he murmured. "Now, by my reckoning, you need a meal, a bath and some new clothes." Shyly, the boy followed him down and the Chief led him out. For a moment, he looked confused and then realised they were heading for the Great Hall: he stiffened. But Stoick was expecting him to come along and Gobber was waiting for them. The Chief and his 'Right Hook Man' stood each side of the scrawny outsider, chatting animatedly and heaping his bowl with stew. A large hunk of bread was also pressed into his hand as they steered him to a table by the fire and ate with the boy. Hiccup was astonished that they deliberately asked him about his home, his family and his life before he had been enslaved.

Stoick noted how the boy's face grew animated as he talked about his home and those he had loved; how his forest green eyes sparkled with life and his often timid and respectful voice warmed with affection as he described his former life. Flashes of his dry and often sarcastic humour just popped up, now and again and the Chief found himself smiling at the dry and witty observations the boy made. And his heart was saddened that such a lively and bright young man had been tormented and abused and beaten down by his cruel treatment.

Gobber watched the boy eat: quickly, hunched up to protect his food from theft, scarcely chewing in his urgency to get the food in his stomach before it could be stolen from his grasp. His head ducked when others walked close and his shoulders hunched in fear and the blacksmith felt ashamed that the village hadn't made the boy welcome at all. Hiccup chewed rapidly through his bread and then looked up, his expression still wary as the Chief downed his mug of ale. "Time to get back," he said and the boy groaned inwardly. He could hear whispers rustling round the hall like a breeze: they were making assumptions and he had to force himself to swallow the last mouthful. Stoick winked. "I can hear them too, lad, but you need that bath!"

In the house, the lad helped warm the water and he stared in apprehension at the tub. It looked so tempting and he was aching to feel the warmth seep into his aching bones and be clean: really clean. But he was ashamed of what Stoick would think of his battered shape. The Chief stared at him and gestured to the soap and the folded towel. "I'll leave you to it, then," he offered and headed out the door and Hiccup breathed a deep sigh of relief. In that one act, the Chief had granted him privacy and defused any rumours and he allowed the constant tension to ooze from his battered shape. With no hesitation, he stripped the stained and filthy clothes from his body and swiftly eased himself into the water.

His back was raw and stung furiously as he ducked under the water but despite his bruises and welts and aches, he was determined this time to be absolutely clean and scrubbed furiously at his skinny shape. He washed his hair and face thoroughly and when he was exhausted and the water was so grimy he couldn't see through it, he reluctantly clambered out. He felt warm and his hands and feet were wrinkled by the water. Tiredly, he dried himself on the towel and wrapped it around his battered shape. And then he stared down.

His brand was ugly against his smooth chest, his skin pale with occasional freckles. His auburn hair was dark and needed a good brush but he finger combed it out and then glanced back-to see some cloth under the towel. He wondered if Stoick had just left him more drying cloths but then he lifted the greenish one and realised it was a fresh tunic, brand new and smelling of the cloth dye. Beneath were greeny-brown leggings and underwear. His cheeks flashed with embarrassment and he fingered the new clothes in his water-shrunken hands. Then a smile crossed his bruised face. New clothes were an undreamed-of luxury.

Eagerly, he dragged the underthings on then slid the tunic over his head: it was a bit too large, the arms long but it was whole and he could grow into it. The leggings were also a bit loose but he adjusted the garments, slipped his boots on and pulled the fur vest on. Then he gave a grin: he finally looked like a normal person, not a slave. Then he turned back, lifted his old clothes and methodically scrubbed them in the water before rinsing them in cold water. He had so few possessions that he couldn't discard even these wretched rags. He sighed then hung them by the fire. And then he sat by the fire and stared into the flames.

It had been an exhausting day and even though he was brave and determined, the emotional rollercoaster had pretty much drained him dry. This morning, he had woken, bound and gagged and savagely beaten by his supposed guardians, taunted by Alva that they had stopped him working at the forge and denied any food or water. Then he had been suddenly and miraculously rescued by Stoick and given food, reassurance and a home. Now he was full, warm and clean: three things he couldn't recall all coming together for the longest time. He stared back at the warm fire and shyly fed a couple more logs, then curled up by the fire and fell asleep.

He woke as he was being shaken and his eyes snapped open, his whole body tensing and curling up in fear of a blow.

"Easy, Hiccup," Stoick said gently, leaning over him. "You looked peaceful but that looks hard. Would you prefer the bed?" He glanced up and remembrance flooded back. He frowned, worry flooding his sleepy face.

"What-what about Gobber?" he asked muzzily. "He'll be mad if I miss work…" Stoick chuckled at his anxiety.

"Gobber is fine and just relieved that he still has his apprentice," he said cheerfully. Then he scooped the boy up in his arms and Hiccup stiffened. But the Chief had already turned to the stairs and was calmly carrying the boy up towards the bed. Hiccup felt his body clench in terror, the memories and implications of the Chief carrying up to the bed blanking his mind. But Stoick stared at him with sad eyes and carried him gently to the bed, resting the boy on the bed, then flipping the furs and blankets back. Calmly, he pulled the boy's boots off and then slid him into the bed, tenderly pulling the blankets up and tucking Hiccup in. The boy's cheeks were scorching with shame at his suspicions but the man smiled at him.

"Don't worry, Hiccup," the Chief told him. "I only see woman in that way." Hiccup blushed even redder at the words. "I know you have endured some terrible abuses and that means you will suspect my motives but believe me, on my honour, I will _never_ lay a hand on you like that. You may resemble my dead wife, but you are not my type!" Hiccup stared up and his eyes shone.

"I-I-I'm sorry, sir," he whispered sorrowfully. He thought his cheeks would _literally_ catch fire with the embarrassment at thinking so ill of the Chief. Stoick sighed.

"I rescued you because you needed rescuing and because you asked for my help," he reminded the boy. "I want you here as my friend…my ward. I have no son, no family. I am willing to offer that empty space in my life to someone who needs and deserves it."

Hiccup blinked hard. The Chief's words were true: he did need help, he did need rescuing. _He desperately needed a home and a protector._ And the shame of knowing that made him curl in misery. But the offer seemed honest, genuine. The Chief was offering him a home, a sort of family to replace the one he had taken from him. He stared up for a long moment and finally gave a slight smile.

"I-I would be honoured, sir," he admitted. "It-it would be nice to have a home and someone to care for me." Stoick's big face cracked a grin. He nodded and tucked the blankets in again in a self-conscious paternal gesture.

"Good, good," he said awkwardly. "Er-do need need some supper?" Hiccup gave a sleepy smile.

"Actually, I'm good, sir," he admitted. "I would just really like a longer sleep. It's not been easy with them and before…" Stoick leaned over and gently ruffled the clean and soft auburn hair.

"Sleep well, son," he murmured gently as he turned down the stairs. Hiccup was asleep before he even reached the bottom and he stared up at the gentle breathing coming from upstairs. His head was telling him that he just had a newly purchased slave in his house but his heart had already adopted the boy as his son. He sighed. No matter his wishes, he knew his fellow villagers: this wasn't going to be easy.


	11. Chapter 11: The Welcome You Deserve

**Eleven: The Welcome You Deserve.**

Hiccup woke the next morning, utterly disorientated. He was warm and comfortable and only slightly hungry. He rolled over and mumbled "Another five minutes, Aunt Marte."

And then his eyes snapped open and he sat up. He was in the loft bedroom in Stoick's house on Berk. Aunt Marte was three years dead-three years in which he had been enslaved and whipped and branded and raped. And now he was on Berk under the protection of the Chief. He blinked again and glanced around. He could hear Stoick moving around downstairs and he cautiously slid out of bed, neatly pulling the blankets and furs straight and pulling his boots on. Then, warily, he quietly climbed down the stairs and reached the main room of the house. The Chief looked up.

"Ah-there you are, Hiccup," he said cheerfully. "Sleep well?" He nodded shyly.

"Very well, thanks," he murmured. The Chief got up.

"Breakfast?" he offered and Hiccup gave a grin. His stomach growled.

"Yes, please!" he admitted and walked out after the Chief heading for the Great Hall. The man was very careful to stick close to the boy, pointing things out to him and ensuring the boy had a hefty plate of meat and eggs for breakfast. Hiccup sat down by him and gave a smile. "Wow. I won't be able to move after this!" he admitted. Stoick glanced down on him.

"No offence, boy, but you're nothing but skin and bone and you need feeding up, big time!" he noted, taking a huge bite of his chicken leg. Hiccup cautiously bit into his own chicken leg and closed his eyes in happiness at the taste of warm, well-cooked food. He tucked into his food with good heart. But as he was finishing, he saw the other teens eating at the far end of the Hall and he stared over at them wistfully. Snotlout had done his best to sabotage any chance of friendship with them but as Hiccup was stuck on Berk at least until Spring, he knew he had to try to connect with them. So he saw them looking and offered a hopeful smile-but he saw Snotlout lean towards Tuff-the male twin-and then there was the sounds of laughing. Hiccup's face fell. The Chief looked up and caught his expression.

"Son-it will take time," he said, not knowing how Snotlout had done his best to sabotage things. Hiccup forced a lopsided smile onto his face.

"If you say so, sir," he said heavily. "May I be excused? I ought to get to the forge. Or Gobber really _will_ give my job away!" Stoick clapped him on the shoulder.

"Off you go, Hiccup!" he said cheerfully. "I'll see you later." Hiccup flashed a more genuine smile and rose, then walked to the door. The teens pointedly ignored him and he sighed then headed for the forge. Gobber was sarcastic at his late arrival but the twinkle in his blue eyes was heartening and Hiccup managed a suitably sarcastic come back, earning a chuckle from his boss.

"And I see Stoick got yer some snappy threads," the blacksmith noted. Hiccup paused, stuck his arms out and gave a twirl.

"Yeah, the height of Viking fashion!" he shot back. Gobber grinned.

"As long as yer remember yer here to work, not model!" he noted. Hiccup winked.

"I'm sure I can find time in my busy social schedule for a little work!" he teased and then his face fell. He could see Snotlout and the twins walking across the plaza and he sighed. Gobber caught his expression and gently patted his shoulder.

"Give it time, Hiccup," he reassured the boy. He glanced around the forge. "We're none too busy. After lunch, yer can take some time off and see if yer can catch up with them." Hiccup sighed heavily.

"Gobber, Snotlout made sure they all knew where I was found and what happened to me," he said softly. "They look at me like something they've stepped in." Gobber narrowed his eyes: he knew the teens from weapons training.

"All of them?" he asked softly. Hiccup considered and frowned.

"No," he realised. Then the blacksmith smiled.

"Now yer have a plan!" he suggested.

Hiccup found the big husky blond boy down by the bottom of the plaza, reading a book. He peered at the runes of the front cover: ' _DRAGON MANUAL'_. Taking his courage in both hands, he approached the big boy cautiously. He mentally kicked himself: what was the boy going to do? Shout at him? Beat him? He could only try.

"Erm…hello?" he hazarded as he stopped a yard away from the boy. He looked up, his eyes surprised. Hiccup swallowed. "Erm…I'm sorry about the other day."

"What?" The tone wasn't hostile but it wasn't friendly either. Hiccup took a deep breath.

"About-about snapping at you about my name. I mean _Hiccup_. It's not a great name at all but it kinda describes me-I know that. I-I just kinda got tired of absolutely _everyone_ telling me it means the runt of the litter. I mean-look at me! How could I _not_ be described a runt? It came…after a pretty tough day with Snotlout." He stopped and winced. Now it would sound like he was bad-mouthing the boy's friend. The book lowered and a pair of round blue eyes inspected the skinny boy.

"I can appreciate that," the husky boy said, his voice still neutral. Hiccup sighed.

"Look, I know we never got properly introduced," he persisted in his most optimistic tone. "I'm Hiccup. I was brought here by Stoick because he felt sorry for me and he rescued me from…a really bad situation." The book was laid down now and the larger boy's round face stared carefully at Hiccup's bruised one, seeing the anxiety in his green eyes.

"Were you really in the whorehouse? A slave?" he asked. Hiccup rolled his eyes and nodded, his head dropping.

"Yeah," he admitted slowly. "But not of choice."

"So you really…?"

"Yeah, I deliberately got myself there, beaten and in chains and terrified," he shot back sarcastically. The larger boy stared at him, his face hurt. "Look- _SORRY!_ There isn't much I can say. I wasn't born a slave or anything like that. I was free, living with my Aunt and Uncle until they died, shortly before we were raided by pirates. Half the village was laid waste and though we fought them to a truce, they demanded slaves to ensure they went away. And though I was free-born and the blacksmith's apprentice-the _only_ blacksmith they had-I was handed immediately over as a waste of space and a drain on the village. I never asked for it. I was lost and scared. My only family had just died and my own tribe had just given me into slavery!"

The big boy stared at him.

"Oh," was all he could manage. Hiccup closed his eyes.

"On the slaver ship, I was whipped and locked up and finally branded. Yeah, _that_ was a great day. And then…I was sold. I was given to a man on Berserk who was pretty mean. I still thought of myself as free and kept trying to escape but every time I was caught and whipped or starved or locked up. And finally, I just had to stop-because no matter how brave you are, you can't carry on with no food and no water and no skin left on your back!" His voice had grown bitter and he stopped, breathing hard. The big boy stared at him.

"Go on," he encouraged. Hiccup gave a grim smile.

"After a year, I was sold. And in a way, it was a relief but in others, it was worse, because I was going into the unknown. I knew what my master on Berserk wanted but the new master, on Meathead island was even harder and unpredictable. He beat me daily but realised I would never be strong-so he sold me to a Trader Captain. And he…he just got his rocks off on spilling my blood. I had to do every single task on the ship and he just set me tasks no man could complete, let alone a skinny boy. And once I failed, he got what he wanted and had his fun beating me. It was inevitable: I ran once we went into port."

His hands were trembling now and he was wondering why he was telling this to the stranger who hadn't even given him a name. But he needed the other boy to understand his situation-it hadn't been his choice, it was just his only path because he had been condemned for no crime and then had to live with the consequences.

"I managed to hide until he sailed but I found locating work really hard. I never shirked any task and always gave my best. I can read and write and speak a handful of languages. I can blacksmith and work leather. I was there for nine months but as it got colder, any casual work dried up. I couldn't work in the docks or the boats because one look told them I wouldn't cut the mustard. So, as I was on the brink of starvation and freezing to death, I went to the whorehouse, seeing if they would take me on as a menial worker. But I was trapped and they wouldn't let me go. He-the steward-demanded I become part of the staff or he would hand me to the guards as a slave. And then…he…he…"

He turned away, his head bowed and throat bobbing with the effort of swallowing the sobs that almost choked him. He shook his head. How could this boy understand his horror, his helplessness, his shame?

"He forced me. But when he made me go in with a client, I ran away-and met your chief. But I was recaptured and the steward whipped and beat me-until your chief came. But I had already been handed to a man who wouldn't let me go and wouldn't say no." He squeezed his eyes tighter shut. "So walk away, friend. I'm sure your parents wouldn't want you to associate with the little slave from the port, that soiled and shamed little…"

A hand closed gently on his shoulder. He looked up, rigid with shock and sudden fear.

"My name is Fishlegs," the large boy said. His eyes were kind. "I'm sorry. I hadn't realised how bad your life had been." Hiccup hitched his ashen face up into a vague smile and suppressed the response he wanted to shoot back: _And they laughed at my name?_ Instead, he went with a more honest answer.

"We're Vikings. Life is meant to be hard," he sighed.

"Not that hard," a female voice said. His head snapped round and saw the beautiful blonde girl inspecting him, her axe still in her hand but her glorious blue eyes softer. "I'm Astrid Hofferson. I guess you didn't deserve the welcome we gave you."

 _No, I didn't._

But he shrugged instead. "I-I can understand why you wouldn't wanna speak to me," he admitted softly. Fishlegs looked at him.

"But why did you attack Snotlout?" he asked. "Not that…um…that isn't quite cool…" Hiccup sighed.

"Because…because he insulted Chief Stoick," he said in a quiet voice.

"What?" Astrid's tone was sharp. Hiccup sighed.

" _And I bet my Uncle only brought you back so that he could bend you over and ride your scrawny little ass!"_ he quoted softly. Their eyes were incredulous. "He is Stoick's Heir: he should be _defending_ the Chief, not slandering him. The Chief hasn't touched me in that way. He's the only person for _years_ who has touched me with anything other than a blow from a hand or a whip. He actually…actually was kind and he doesn't deserve people saying untruthful things about him when he deserves honour for his generosity in rescuing a wretched and friendless boy from a horrible situation." He stared at the ground.

"Not friendless," Fishlegs told him calmly. Hiccup stiffened.

"Okay, so I guess Gobber…" he began but the bigger boy gave a smile.

"Well, I think that you deserve a chance…so I am happy to give you that," Fishlegs said quietly. "We didn't offer you the welcome you deserved."

"Especially since it's obvious the Chief wanted you to be made welcome," Astrid added firmly. Hiccup raised his wary green eyes and looked at them in shock.

"You-you…" he stuttered. Fishlegs smiled. "Th-thank you…" Astrid inspected him professionally.

"Hmm-you're not very muscular, are you?" she noted. He felt the transient urge to reply ' _neither are you'_ but bit back at the sarcasm. It was a reasonable observation, though not particularly kind or polite.

"Um, not really," he admitted.

"So what weapon do you use?" she asked him briskly, twirling the axe in her hand.

"W-weapon?" he asked faintly.

"Yes," she said impatiently. "Which weapons have you been trained to use?"

"I can _build_ and _mend_ axes, swords, hammers, pikes, halberds, spears and bows," he said warily.

"And use?"

"Um…none of them," he said ashamedly. Astrid's eyes widened in shock and mild disappointment.

"NONE?" she snapped. He swallowed and inspected the ground furiously.

"Um…I was raised on a Peaceable Island…Nott, to be precise…and they really didn't go big on weapons…and I was in the forge all the time until I was twelve…and then I was enslaved…and they kinda don't do weapons training for slaves…well, in Rome they sorta did if you were going into the Arena…but they didn't for me because why would you bother…I mean, look at me? If you trained me for the Arena…I'd last two minutes and a minute of a half would be the other guy taking the applause of the crowd and most of the rest would be him laughing at me so…yeah…can't use any of them…sorry…"

Astrid and Fishlegs saw his cheeks flaming brilliant scarlet with shame at the admission and could hear the utter embarrassment in his rambling voice. And he was trembling as he hunched his shoulders and turned away.

"Sorry…" he repeated and started to walk away.

"WAIT!" Fishlegs called and grabbed his shoulder. He flinched and hunched up, his head bowing as if expecting a blow and the boy started in shock. "Hiccup? Where're you going?" The smaller boy stared at the floor and sighed.

"You look d-disappointed so I g-guess y-you don't w-want me here any m-more…" he stammered, still inspecting the ground. His voice was quiet, submissive and they stared at the trembling shape. Astrid walked to stand in his way and bent her knees so she could inspect his face. He looked utterly defeated. Instinctively, she reached out and her hand grasped his shoulder. His froze.

"Hiccup-it's not your fault you were never taught," she told him seriously. "But you are here now so we will help you learn." She paused and stared into the wary eyes. "You really haven't been treated well, have you?" He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers.

"Um, no…sorry…" he apologised wearily. Astrid nodded.

"Come with us," she said, gesturing to Fishlegs, who willingly closed the Dragon Manual and followed the girl up as she led them to a flat open area at the edge of the village and motioned the twitchy Hiccup to face her. She eyed him up and down. "Hmm-not sure you'd be much good with an axe…" she sighed, twirling her beautiful axe thoughtfully in her hands. She looked at Fishlegs, who was holding a war-hammer. "Or a hammer," she added.

"Pike or spear?" he suggested.

"He's too short," she appraised sharply. "He'd find it too unwieldy."

"Sword," Fishlegs decided. She nodded, then cast around and found a suitable branch, stripping it to sword shape and size with her axe. She made herself a practice sword as well, then laid the axe aside.

"Okay, Hiccup," she said smartly. "You hold the sword like…this…" And her warm hand closed his fingers around the wood, adjusting the grip until it was correct. He almost dared not breathe and then he gave a small smile. She frowned. "Hiccup?"

"Um…you're really beautiful…" he managed. Her face folded into a frown and Fishlegs winced. He stared at her and recoiled.

"How dare you?" she hissed through gritted teeth. Hiccup backed away, dropping his 'sword' and curled up, cringing away from a blow.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he whimpered, unsure what he had done wrong but realising now he was definitely going to get a beating. "I-I…"

But the blow never came for Astrid was staring at him in utter shock. Vikings on Berk were feisty, rude and blunt, enduring all manner of hardship and injury with happy equanimity. But the outsider had obviously taken more cruel treatment than anyone on Berk had been forced to survive and he was _afraid._ She forced her temper back and cast Fishlegs a glance.

"Um…you don't go round hitting on Astrid!" the larger boy hissed at Hiccup. "Well, not unless you expect her to hit you…"

"'m sorry, I didn't know," Hiccup whimpered, curling up tighter. Fishlegs sighed.

"She won't hit you," he told the smaller boy with a sigh.

"You just said she _would_!" Hiccup protested.

"Not this time," Astrid said sharply. "Because you didn't know." Hiccup peered under his hair warily.

"Know-know what?" he asked shakily.

"I am a warrior," she said proudly. He nodded wildly.

"And I c-can't tell you that you are b-beautiful?" he guessed. She scowled. "S-sorry. B-but your name means 'D-divine B-beauty' and-and you _are_ but I don't wanna be hurt so I-I'm really sorry because n-normally beautiful women don't threaten to k-kill you for complimenting them. I-I'll remember…" She nodded.

"Now pick up your sword!" she commanded him. He sighed, then grabbed it, consciously changed it over to his right hand as she had done and adjusted his hand so it was how she had placed it and faced her. He looked really pale.

"Ready," he sighed.

oOo

The lesson had been dispiriting because it had become very obvious he had a huge way to go. He was clumsy and uncoordinated and had been easily disarmed by Astrid. He had felt his inners curling with shame at his useless performance but his friends had been very patient, accepting that he had never had any training at arms. Astrid had made an appointment to meet up the next day and continue his training and he had felt his heart leap just a little at the chance to spend some time with the girl.

But his arms were aching terribly. He had never felt so tired, even after hauling water and chopping logs for the Jorgensons…his eyes had slid warily down the slope to the house where he had felt such hostility and fear-but he steeled himself to look away. Astrid had exercised his arms, his legs and his core, trying to get his balance better and movements more coordinated. He sighed. At least he may have done something that could make the Chief proud. He desperately wanted not to be so hopeless in the man's eyes, the desire to make his protector proud of him burning deep in his chest. He owed Stoick everything and he had to start repaying the man.

Hands grabbed him and hauled him into the narrow space between two houses and he gave a strangled cry before he was slammed against the wall of the house, a meaty hand over his face. His eyes widened in fear as the arctic blue gaze of Snotlout inspected his terrified face. Hiccup tried to struggle but he was pinned. The larger boy leaned close to him and his proximity was terrifying.

"Stay away from my Princess, slave!" Snotlout hissed. Hiccup tried to shake his head. "Astrid. She's mine!" Hiccup frowned. The impression he had that was she belonged to no one and was exasperated by being chased…and then it clicked. She was exasperated at being chased _by Snotlout._ He struggled more wildly. The boy hammered a fist into his gut and Hiccup doubled up in agony.

"Let…me…go…" he shouted against the hand but only the smallest of sounds escaped.

"You shamed my father and mother," Snotlout threatened him, his voice and face hateful. Hiccup stared through shimmering eyes, still grimacing in pain. They had shamed themselves by mistreating the boy they were asked to make welcome and care for-but there was little to be gained in making the point. They had decided that it was Hiccup's fault and nothing would change their mind. And Hiccup was terrified that no one knew where he was. He tried to shake his head against the hand over his mouth but he was pinned. Snotlout leaned closer.

"And I am going to make you pay for that…slave…" he menaced.

Then Hiccup's head was slammed viciously against the wall behind him and all went black.


	12. Chapter 12: Saved by the dragons

**Twelve: Saved by the Dragons**

His eyes snapped open in disorientation, his head pounding. He lay still, mentally cataloguing his body, feeling for the old familiar pains and checking for nothing new…but apart from the throbbing pain where Snotlout had slammed his head against the wall, he was as he had been before: battered and scarred but no more injured than he had been before. His arms and legs weren't tied and he couldn't hear anyone nearby. Cautiously, he sat up and looked around.

He was in the middle of a dense forest, alone and utterly lost. The forest was quiet but he could hear the rustle of leaves and the scratching of some animal watching him. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his waist-but his belt knife had been taken and he had been left defenceless. Still vaguely dizzy, he climbed to his feet, gently rotating round to inspect his surroundings. There was no clue which was the right way to go but the boy quietly walked round the edge of the small clearing and looked for tracks, then he hunkered down and sighed. Who was he kidding? He knew the _theory_ of tracking but he had never been taught and had little practical experience either. He squinted in search of footprints, snapped twigs and bent leaves. He searched again and finally he saw some footprints-larger and deeper than his-and hoped he was making the right assessment. Quietly, with a prayer to Odin, he headed in the direction of the tracks and hoped he would find his way back to the village.

It was gloomy and overcast and the light was definitely fading. He could hear little and when he heard voices, his head snapped round in hope-until he realised they were the voices of Snotlout-and his father, Spitelout. He stiffened in fear and backed away through the bushes-until the ground vanished from under his foot and he found himself tumbling down a steep gravelly slope, slightly larger stones slamming into his skinny body. He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain as he slammed against the base of the gulley and peered miserably up at the ribbon of sky between the overhanging bushes Then the voices paused and he cringed, curling up and praying their owners wouldn't look down and see him.

"You couldn't have left him closer to the village?" Spitelout grumbled.

"I couldn't risk the runt finding his way back before you had chance to speak to him!" Snotlout said in a grim voice. "He needs to apologise that he got you into trouble with Uncle Stoick."

"The lying little bastard-what did he tell him?" Spitelout growled.

"Probably whinged that he was being worked too hard," Snotlout sneered. Hiccup felt a twinge of anger at the unfairness. He hadn't complained to Stoick until after he had been rescued from being beaten, tied up and starved. "He deserved his beatings for his smart mouth!" He paused. "What're you going to do to him, Dad?" There was a pregnant pause and Hiccup held his breath.

"He screamed when he was belted," Spitelout murmured. "And he's certainly deserved another good thrashing for his behaviour. But I do recall that he screamed really pathetically because he thought I was going to…"

"He's a bed slave," Snotlout sneered. "He should be used to it. Probably _enjoys_ it. Why not use him for what he's there for?"

 _Oh gods-no. Please…no…_

"He's such a toothpick," Spitelout growled. "I'd probably break him in two." There was a pause. "But that's no reason not to try-and make sure that little slave knows his place. I don't want Stoick getting any stupid ideas about his little friend, about maybe giving him some of the status that should be yours. And if _he_ dishonours himself with that slave, then I will take over a Chief…"

 _Please, don't let them do this. Don't let them use me…against him. Or use me, period._

"And son…maybe it's time you got some practice in…" Spitelout added thoughtfully. Hiccup's eyes widened in horror. _This had to be some living nightmare!_ He had only just escaped the cruel, sadistic Jorgensons and now they had not only kidnapped him and left him in the forest but they were planning father-son bonding by raping him together. He closed his eyes and curled up as small as he could manage, feeling misery wrap around his skinny shape.

 _It would have been better if I had frozen to death in the port,_ he thought despondently. _Oh Thor…isn't there a single person in this place who doesn't mean me harm?_ And then he kicked himself. Stoick had shown him nothing but kindness. And Gobber, with his irreverent attitude and warm mentorship. And of course, Fishlegs and Astrid who had shown him friendship…something he hadn't experienced for so long. His small hands tightened into fists and he listened as the odious Jorgensons moved away, returning to where they had left him so they could start the assault.

He levered himself painfully to his feet, wincing at the new bruises his fall had earned him and peered up the steep sides of the gulley. He wasn't sure he could climb out…but he could see the gap leading away to his left and he sighed then began to slip slowly along the muddy ground, hoping he could find an easier place to clamber out. He trudged along until he found himself facing a blank wall of earth and sighed. He peered up…and then he sighed. There was a branch hanging down, maybe sturdy enough to carry his small weight and he bravely grasped the branch. He struggled and slid off twice but eventually, he managed to haul himself onto the muddy ground and he lay there for a long moment, breathing hard. He could see he was now filthy, small scrapes on his hands and arms leaking spots of blood onto his new clothes. He slowly began to move-and then he heard shouts of rage. He cringed, panicked and scrambled to his feet.

They saw him. "GET HIM!" they shouted and he glanced at the shapes crashing through the undergrowth and ran. It was almost as if he was back in the Port, being chased by Sundby's hounds and he was feeling the same levels of terror. He ducked through the bushes and saplings, running as hard as he could. He wasn't sure where he was heading but he knew it had to be away from Snotlout and Spitelout. He dodged between some tightly-packed trees and he knew they wouldn't be able to follow him, but they were still coming. And then he found himself tumbling down into a depression, the fall knocking the wind from him. He rolled to his knees and began to crawl, hearing them close, praying to any god that would listen that he could hide. He found a small stand of bracken and cowered behind, realising he was done: they would find him.

Then he heard breathing behind him and he froze, his green eyes wide with terror. There was some creature behind him, a huge creature. Trembling with fear, he slowly looked behind and up-to meet a pair of acid green globes, slitted vertical black pupils inspecting the cowering, muddy boy. The shape loomed above him, black and streamlined, a blunt head tilting to view the boy from all angles. The creature's body was streamlined, the legs sturdy with rounded paws with sharp claws and huge bat-like wings half-furled. A long tail flicked behind the dragon. Hiccup pressed his body back, his eyes wide and he froze.

The Night Fury inspected the boy before him-skinny and small, this human was just a child, a hatchling. His sensitive ears could hear two more crashing through the forest, shouting and snarling and the dragon looked down at the boy once more. He recognised the sound and smell of the others as Hunters from the village-and this skinny boy certainly looked like prey. He was battered and clearly afraid…and not a threat. The dragon leaned closer and sniffed the boy calmly.

Hiccup was shaking hard at the closeness of the dragon. The monster was about to eat him and he bowed his head in submission, raising a trembling hand to fend the dragon away.

"Please don't kill me," he whispered without hope.

And then he stiffened: there was a sudden warm pressure against his hand. The dragon's nose was pressing gently against his skin, the warm breath huffing against him. His eyes widened in shock and he stared up into the alien face. The dragon stared into his eyes, gave a small coo, then lifted his head, as if listening, his ear flaps twitching. His pupils shrank to tiny slits and he pulled away, turning and bounding into the air. Hiccup stared, his hand still outstretched as the dragon flapped its huge wings once and vanished into the gloom. The boy slowly clambered to his feet, his hand still outstretched. He was desperately trying to process what had happened and he took a shuddering breath.

A hand clamped on his shoulder and he screamed.

"Gotcha!" Spitelout snarled and Hiccup began to fight desperately, kicking and writhing but a second hand snared his thin arm and he felt himself held helpless. But he still fought as Snotlout sauntered round to look into the grubby, terrified face before punching the boy. Hiccup gasped, winded as Spitelout looked around the shallow depression: it was surrounded by trees and saplings and spruce concealed the little place from any casual observer. "Here's as good as anywhere!" he said with infinite menace.

"Oh please…don't…" Hiccup begged, still kicking and writhing. "I-I promise I won't s-say anything…" Spitelout spun him to face him and raised a hand, then slapped the boy hard to the floor. Hiccup hit hard and stared up, trying to scramble away-and find Snotlout grabbing him helpless. The son gave a nasty grin.

"What first?" he asked. Spitelout nodded.

"Get his clothes…" he began and then a horn sounded…and again. "DRAGON RAID!" He motioned and his son jerked the smaller boy to his feet. "You say a word about this, boy, and I will kill you!" Spitelout menaced him. Hiccup nodded wildly, tears shining in his eyes. Spitelout lifted Hiccup and began to run back to the village, his son racing along at his back. Ahead, there were cries, roars and the sound of flames. The Jorgensons raced through the forest, heading directly back to the village and the conflict and Hiccup allowed himself to be carried along like a sack of turnips-mainly because he had no choice. He was thrown to the ground just at the edge of the forest and Snotlout shot him a nasty smile as he vanished to do his duty. Winded, scared and completely unnerved, Hiccup shambled to his feet and began to slowly walk down the hill towards the village. And then he stopped.

Houses were burning and two huge baskets of fire were propped up on tree trunk pillars in the dark sky. Overhead, the sky was thick with dragons, flapping back and forth, swooping for homes and livestock, breaking into the storehouses and stealing vital provisions. Vikings were everywhere, fighting with dragons. Hiccup saw the teens running back and forth as well, carrying buckets of water on the fire crew to try to save homes. His eyes widened and had no idea what he should be doing.

"HICCUP!" The Chief's voice bellowed up the hill and the boy flinched. The Chief walked towards him and glared. "Where the Hel have you been? Gods-you're filthy!"

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing he could say. Stoick scowled furiously at him. "Can-can I help?"

"No. You have no job and you can't fight. Get into the Great Hall with the children and old folks and _DO NOT MOVE_ until I come to collect you. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Hiccup said dispiritedly and trudged down the hill.

"NOW!" the Chief roared and Hiccup dragged his battered shape to a shambling trot down the hill towards the stairs to the Great Hall, trying to keep out of everyone's way. His cheeks were burning with shame at the public reprimand and he just wanted to crawl away and hide. He hit the steps, peered across the plaza to the Chief, bellowing orders to organise his defences and ducked his head down as he began to run up the stairs. His chest was tight with misery and he knew that he had shamed Stoick. He had failed him.

His skinny shape slid through the small gap between the he doors and he slammed them shut behind him in response to the mouthful of abuse hurled at him by the women and old men. He sighed and ashamedly walked forward-to hear a familiar voice sneer:

"Look what the cat dragged in!" He stiffened and froze, his eyes closing in resignation at Alva's cruel comment. His head dropped and he walked towards the fire.

"Yeah, what's a young 'un like you doin' in here instead o' fightin' them dragons, lad?" an old male voice asked him sharply. He lifted his green gaze to see a wizened old man glaring at him, sitting on a padded chair by the fire, both legs missing below the knees. His head dipped again.

"The-the Chief told me to wait in here," he said quietly.

"Coward!" an older woman sneered. Hiccup shook his head.

"N-no," he pleaded. "I-I've only been here a couple of weeks and I-I don't have an assignment d-during raids…"

"So you thought you'd just hide in here?" an old woman sneered, her eyes whitened out by cataracts and her hands tight on a staff, two small grandchildren sitting by her feet.

"N-no. I said my Chief told me to come here," Hiccup protested.

"But he's not your Chief-he's your _owner!"_ Alva snapped. Hiccup's head jerked up.

"You know he brought me here and freed me," he told her with unexpected firmness.

"Yes-he BOUGHT you…from a whorehouse," she said triumphantly. "A body slave. A _bed_ slave. I bet he just put you in here to make sure you weren't harmed for when he needed relief after the raid…" Hiccup swallowed.

"You have an evil tongue," he said levelly. "The Chief has never touched me in that way."

"You sleep in his house, his bed slave!" she scoffed. "What do you expect us to believe?" He stared at her in shock.

"Mrs Jorgenson, I have been rescued from your clutches for precisely one night," he told her softly. "One night-the _only_ night so far on Berk where I didn't have to worry about being slapped or hurt or starved. All those in your house were filled with cold and hunger and pain. Chief Stoick has not touched me or dishonoured himself in any way. But saying such evil lies about your Chief dishonours you and your family!"

"You've got a nerve for a _slave_!" she hissed, attacking again. "You cannot deny you came from the whorehouse-or that you've been with men, can you?" He stared at her, breathing hard, but his cheeks were scarlet with shame. He shook his head.

"Not of choice," he whispered as every eye hardened. He took a small step back and saw the woman triumphant. "Please…I never…"

"Ye better stay back!" the legless Viking warned him, clutching at his staff. Hiccup retreated another step. "We don't want your sort tainting the little 'uns. Slaves stay at the back." And he gestured, outside the pool of warmth and light, hard against the back wall. Hiccup stared at them in mute appeal but was met only by cold eyes and women cuddling their children to their bodies, protecting them against the unwanted intruder. Defeated, the boy dragged himself where the man had pointed and hunkered down in the cold, staring at the little group of Vikings, sheltering from the dragons. But even in this sanctuary, he was excluded.

But not forgotten. He had been sitting for half an hour, huddled up in cold and hunger and misery when he heard Alva's voice rise. "BOY! Fetch logs. The fire is dying down!" Hiccup stared up, blinking. He was feeling stiff and sore, the single day of freedom and one bath not enough to overcome the beatings he had taken from the Jorgensons. He achingly levered himself up and grabbed an armful of logs, warily bringing them forward to the fire. The woman silently watched him toss them in, making sure they were evenly distributed. Then he went back and fetched a couple more and quietly fed the fire once more…but as soon as he had done and wearily leaned forward to warm his hands, he felt hands grab his tunic and propel him beyond the warm circle. He staggered, casting them an unhappy look and retreating once more. He was honestly getting too tired to even fight it.

"BOY! The waste pail needs emptying!" Alva commanded, enjoying her hold over the boy. He looked up and shook his head. "NOW!" she bellowed and he started, jumping anxiously. Reluctantly, he dragged himself to fetch the large pail, noting it was three quarters full of waste and grimaced, trying to breathe only with his mouth. He hauled it over to the door and put his whole weight into opening a door and hauling himself out.

He stared down the village: the battle was still raging and he sighed. It would be better to be outside, risking death, rather than be ignored and slowly wither away in the Hall. Head down, he found a suitable spot to empty the pail and then slowly trudged back to the doors.

"HICCUP!" He started and curled with shame: it was Stoick's voice, shouting at him across the entire village. "GET INSIDE! _NOW!"_ He stared down to the huge shape, gesturing angrily at him and he turned and slank back through the doors, the empty pail clamped in his hands. He felt his inners cringe: he was in trouble now.

oOo

Stoick watched the scrawny shape limp back into the Great Hall and only after he had shouted at the boy did he see the bucket held in his hand. The lad had been sent out to empty the waste and the Chief felt ashamed he had chastised the boy, knowing how hard he would take it. He sighed. The dragons were leaving, their damage done and booty claimed. He cast around: the fire crew were finishing off the few fires left and he saw Astrid throw her bucket in a small fire, dousing it, then walking towards him with a respectful expression on her face.

"Fires are all under control," she reported. "One house lost, two damaged but habitable. Several minor burns. The third food warehouse has been destroyed though." Stoick nodded absently. There had been little in there and the dragons had emptied it before they burnt it. No matter how hard the Hooligans had fought, they always suffered losses. He paused and became aware she was still there. "Did you find him, sir?" she asked. he nodded.

"He had run off in the forest," he said gruffly, his eyes snapping with irritation. She frowned.

"Sir?" she asked in confusion. "He was heading down the village for the forge when we left him. He'd just had his first weapons lesson and was heading to see if Gobber had a spare, old sword he could practice with." Stoick frowned.

" _First_ weapons lesson?" he echoed. "You mean he's _really_ never been taught to fight?"

"No, sir," she replied. "He…he was very ashamed about that, I think. But he lived on a Peaceable Isle, I think and worked in the forge. He never had any training before he was enslaved. And what master would teach his property the skills to fight against him and escape?"

"I see." Stoick's tone was thoughtful. Astrid frowned again.

"Sir, I don't believe Hiccup would go into the forest…not of his own free will," she said quietly. "He's wary enough in the village. He won't go into a forest he doesn't know. If anything, I guess he would go looking for you."

"You think he was lured there?" Stoick asked her. She sighed.

"Or just taken there against his will," she admitted. "He's not big and he can't fight. He'd be easy to overcome. Not everyone is his friend." She sighed. "Almost no one is," she amended.

"But you are?" Stoick asked. She nodded smartly.

"I think he needs all the friends he can get," she told him. Stoick nodded.

"That's for sure," she sighed. "Thank you, Astrid. You have been very kind to him." She smiled then ran back to check on her home and her family. Stoick checked the village, made sure all was under control, then walked heavily up to the Great Hall.

It was very late and the families and elderly within had settled down by the fire, snuggled together for warmth and comfort. Blankets and furs were draped over the little groups, making sure all were cared for. Stoick stood silently looking at them: his people, his charges. They were warm and safe and that made him feel good.

But the shape he sought wasn't among them. His keen eyes swept over the group twice and confirmed that Hiccup wasn't among them. So he straightened up and his eyes swept the Hall, seeking beyond the warm light of the fire into the gloomy shadows, looking in the cold and dim corners-and finally finding the little curled shape, huddled by the wood pile. He could see the warm hint of auburn hair and the pallor of his face. Stoick quietly walked towards the boy and hunkered down by him, staring at the grimy and bruised shape. Quietly, he shook the boy awake.

Hiccup's eyes blearily opened and he recognised the Chief. He gasped and recoiled, curling up. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he whimpered. "I-I shouldn't have g-gone out…" Stoick laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I saw the pail too late, lad," he reassured Hiccup and pulled the boy to his feet. "Why are you sleeping over here?" Hiccup stared at the ground, his cheeks burning with shame.

"They didn't w-want a slave near their children…" he muttered quietly. "Or anywhere near them…" He sighed. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I-I tried to tell them that you h-hadn't touched me in _that_ way but Alva Jorgensen made sure they all kn-knew what happened in the Port…" He twisted his hands together. Stoick cast a glance over at the sleeping group and decided not to wake them…but have some serious words come the morning. He gently rested his arm around Hiccup's bony, narrow shoulders and steered him towards the door.

"What were you doing in the forest?" the Chief asked and Hiccup stiffened.

"Um…sorry…" was all he would say. Stoick got him out of the doors of the Great Hall before grabbing the boy's shoulders and dropping to one knee to stare firmly into the shamed eyes.

"Who took you there, Hiccup? I know you didn't go there of your own accord." The boy's expression startled for a moment and then he grimaced.

"Um…Spitelout promised to kill me if I said anything," he murmured wearily. "Snotlout knocked me out and took me into the forest and left me there. But then, as I was trying to find the village, they came back…to beat me for disgracing them. I-I don't know how, sir, but it seems to be my fault." He sighed. "I really need an assignment during raids, sir, because I _cannot_ go through that again. I felt so utterly worthless and I would rather be eaten by a dragon-like that black one I saw earlier…"

" _Black_ dragon?" Stoick asked. The boy nodded and described it.

"I'm sorry, sir-I'm not sure what type it is," he admitted.

"Night Fury-the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself!" Stoick announced grimly. "If you see one, hide and pray it does not find you…"

"Um…sorry, sir…it just looked at me, sniffed me…then flew away…" Even with his total absence of dragon knowledge, Hiccup could tell from the Chief's expression that suggesting the creature had been sorta _friendly_ would be a fatal error. The grip on his shoulders tightened.

"When?"

"Um…moments before the horns sounded," Hiccup managed. _Moments in which the Jorgensons planned to rape me,_ he added silently. Stock frowned, then rose to his feet.

"You were incredibly lucky," Stoick told him as Hiccup cast him a sideways glance. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself had been the friendliest thing in the forest by a _long_ way. "Stay in the village now, boy-you may not be so lucky next time!" Hiccup sighed as he was led back to his home, mulling over the truth of it-but not as Stoick understood.

 _Yeah, next time there may not be a dragon raid to save me_.


	13. Chapter 13: A Viking Must Fight

**Thirteen: A Viking Must Fight**

Hiccup woke wearily the next morning, aching and hungry. Somehow, he had missed everything except breakfast and had experienced a far harder day than he had expected. He stretched and winced: his dreams had been disturbing, being chased through an eerie forest by Snotlout and Spitelout and rescued by the black dragon, that _Night Fury_ that Stoick had warned him about. He shivered and got up quickly, silently climbing down the stairs to retrieve his new tunic and leggings that he had insisted on washing before bed and hanging to dry by the fire. He got the impression that Stoick was amused at his fastidiousness but the man couldn't understand the joy of having real proper clothes for the first time in almost four years and his desire to keep them as clean as he could.

The Chief was whittling by the fire and he glanced up at the scrawny shape, dressed temporarily back in his rags from the Port. They were clean but looked to be held together by a prayer. Stoick smiled. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked. Hiccup smiled, still unused to being greeted by anything other than a mouthful of abuse.

"Um…stiff," he admitted. Stoick laid the wood down and inspected the skinny shape.

"Have you really not had any training in weapons?" he asked. Hiccup flushed and stared at the floor.

"Um no…sorry…" he mumbled ashamedly. "But-but Astrid has started to teach me and I-I'm sure I'll be up to speed in-in no time…"

"Get your clothes on, son," the Chief said cheerily. "I think you need some breakfast before you head to the forge…" Hiccup nodded and sped up the stairs, returning scant moments later back in her new clothes with his fur vest on. The Chief ruffled his hair affectionately. "Can't have you getting any thinner or a puff of wind will blow you away!" he commented and Hiccup nodded with a wan smile. But the Chief was chattering cheerily, filling the boy in on what had happened during the raid and how the village was used to being ravaged by the flying parasites. Hiccup nodded, still not fully understanding how severe the raids were. He sat quietly by the Chief feeling even more unfriendly eyes on him as word got round from the wives and children from the Great Hall the previous night. He sighed and stared at his stew, eating quietly. Stoick stared at him.

"What's the matter, boy?" he asked. Hiccup vaguely waved his hand towards the others in the Hall.

"Um…I'm sure they all know…and heard what Alva said last night…" he muttered. Stoick scowled.

"What exactly did she say?" he asked suspiciously. Hiccup swallowed.

"Um…that you only hid me in the Hall so you could… _use_ me after the raid…to relieve yourself or something…" he muttered, his cheeks scorching scarlet with shame. Stoick stared at the boy and then slowly gripped the young lad on the shoulder. Hiccup shivered and stared at the table miserably. "I-I tried to tell them that you n-never touched me l-like that…and that every night I s-spent at theirs was cold and miserable and filled with pain…" he mumbled.

"Hiccup…son…don't worry," he said calmly. "The vicious tongue of one evil woman won't turn the village against me."

"Bu-but it's already turned them against me," Hiccup whispered. Stoick gave his shoulder another squeeze and then turned back to his food. The Chief sighed.

"They'll come round," the Chief said as the boy gave a sigh.

"Yes, sir," he sighed but he was still aware of the hostile eyes as he headed down to the forge and Gobber. The old blacksmith was waiting, the clang of his hammer prosthesis already echoing through the building. Hiccup paused at the doorway, then took a breath and walked in. Gobber looked up at the soft steps as the small shape entered. His eyes crinkled in welcome but his tone was sarcastic.

"Ah, there ye are, laddie!" he commented. "I could've used ye last night in the raid!" Hiccup's eyes widened.

"Can-can I help you next time?" he asked hopefully. Gobber squinted at him.

"I should hope me apprentice would be at my side in any raid…" he said sharply. Hiccup cringed back and he blinked nervously.

"S-sorry, Gobber," he murmured hastily. "I-I didn't know…" The smith stared at the boy, who was almost trembling, his green eyes wide in a silent plea and he began to recall that Hiccup wasn't from Berk. He sighed and laid down the sword he was pounding. He turned to face Hiccup and saw the boy back up a small pace.

"Lad? What's wrong?" he asked in a gentler voice. Hiccup hung his head.

"I-I'm sorry I let you down," he sighed. Gobber lumbered over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Hiccup-no one told you what to do during a raid, did they?" he asked. There was the small shake of a head. The blacksmith sighed. "I don't think any of us could imagine what it would be like to live in a place which doesn't suffer constant dragon raids so we all know what our tasks are during a raid." Hiccup nodded ashamedly. "Lad-it's not your fault!" He stared at the slumped little shape. "Now, come on, Hiccup-let's get started on these damaged weapons from last night!" The boy raised his forest green gaze and a little more confidence seeped in. He swallowed and managed a small smile, before grabbing his leather apron and setting to work. He grabbed a very bent sword and carried over to the forge, shoving it into the fire and looking around for a hammer. Gobber watched him clear a space, line his tools up carefully and grab the leather glove, then grab the glowing sword and begin to hammer away.

The pair worked steadily throughout the morning, dealing with the backlog as well as the trail of Vikings bringing up mangled weapons-all of which were the most important weapon and had to repaired first. Gobber were cheerful, irreverent and-in some cases-blunt.

"No, Hoark-yer damned axe ain't me priority right now!" he growled to the man, one of Stoick's most trusted warriors. "I've got other things I need tae sort first-other warriors whose weapons are equal priority!" He paused. "I could get me apprentice…"

"NO!" Hoark growled. "Gods damn it, Gobber! If _he_ touches it, it will probably be cursed! I'll wait!" And he stomped away. Gobber muttered and threw the axe carelessly onto the pile, turning back to Hiccup with a red face.

"Ass," he growled, seeing the look of hurt in the boy's face at the comment. Hiccup sighed and turned back to his work, hammering away quietly at the sword he was repairing. Gobber sighed and grabbed the next item in the pile. It was only when they had worked a little further down that the boy found himself facing the axe. He gulped and laid it gently aside, picking the next item below it. Gobber instantly picked him up on it.

"What're ye doing, Hiccup?" he asked grumpily: he was tired and hot and hungry. "We take the weapons in order here…" The boy's gaze flicked up, forest green eyes wide with hurt and anxiety.

"But that belongs to the man who didn't want me touching his weapon," he pointed out. "If he finds out…"

"He can break it or melt it down himself!" Gobber told him shortly. "This is my forge and I say who works on what weapon. Now I've shown you how tae make axe heads so you have a good appreciation of the stress points and will take great care not tae hit any of them when you sharpen his damned axe!" Hiccup stared up at the big blacksmith: part of him was very grateful for the vote of confidence, something he really hadn't experienced since his uncle died…but the bigger part of him was afraid that Hoark would find out he had mended his axe. Gobber could shout at the man but Hiccup…well, he had no idea what sort of man Hoark was but his experiences so far in Berk suggested a beating would be the least he'd receive.

"Okay, Gobber," he said quietly, lifting the axe reluctantly and carefully grinding the edge, then polishing and cleaning the weapon. He very cautiously placed the axe on the 'finished' pile…just as Hoark arrived.

"What's he doing near my axe?" he shouted. Hiccup backed away at top speed, slamming against the far wall, eyes wide and shoulders hunched.

"Jest putting it ready for collection for me," Gobber shouted back, straightening up and waving his hammer prosthesis. "Now do ye want tae mend yer own axe next time or will ye let me be the master in me own forge?" Hoark glared at him but saw Gobber lumbering towards him and backed off.

"Of course not, I just…" he rambled then backed off. "I…er…"

"Three coins, same as usual," Gobber said sarcastically, lifting the axe and gesturing. The warrior reluctantly handed the coins over and almost snatched his axe back, then stomped away, grumbling. Watching him go and shaking his head, Gobber turned back to see Hiccup still cowering at the back of the forge. The boy pressed his fists to his face, shaking his head in outright frustration.

"I can't do anything," he said in frustration, shaking his head. "I try, Gobber-I really do. But all that happens is Alva or one of those other Odin-cursed Jorgensens makes sure everyone is reminded what happened to me…what I was…and everyone just looks at me like-like yak dung!"

"Yer mended his axe, didn't yer?" Gobber pointed out. Hiccup nodded slowly. "Then yer not yak dung, boy. Yer a skilled smith apprentice- _my_ apprentice-and I won't have anyone tell yer otherwise!" His big hand landed on the boy's skinny shoulder and the lad slowly looked up.

"Gobber-you know about dragons, right?' he asked suddenly. The big blacksmith puffed up his chest a look of pride filling his face.

"No one knows more here!" he said proudly. "I'm descended from Bork! I've given two limbs to fighting them-and killed more'n I can count. And I run the island's Dragon Training class!" He met the worried green gaze. "Yes, lad," he repeated, toning his enthusiasm down a notch.

"Are-are they always dangerous?" he asked softly, his voice shaking. Gobber nodded.

"Dragons are fierce, vicious animals," he told the boy darkly. "A dragon will always- _always-_ go for the kill!" The pale face tilted to inspect Gobber, his eyes confused.

"And there is no reason why a dragon would spare a human?" he asked carefully.

"Nae, lad. They will kill the elderly, the infirm, newborns and children as well as adults. They have no mercy, no compassion…nothing but bloodlust and hatred." Hiccup stared at the floor and scuffed his foot in an embarrassed way.

"Um…I saw a dragon yesterday," he admitted in a shamed voice. "And…and it didn't kill me." Gobber walked closer, his thick blond unibrow dipping in a scowl.

"What dragon?" he asked.

"A black one with green eyes, big wings and long tail. It was kinda smooth…"

"A Night Fury!"

"Um…that was what the Chief said as well," he admitted.

"The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself!" Gobber breathed, his eyes popping. Hiccup stared at him and frowned.

"You-you guys have never seen one, have you?" he realised. Gobber shook his head, his eyes thoughtful.

"Only as a shadow against the stars, blasting our defences. It ne'er misses! What did it do? How did it act?" The big man's voice was interested, eager and Hiccup felt a strong sense that he didn't want to disappoint Gobber…but he didn't want to tell everything as well because he didn't understand it all himself…and a perverse sense of loyalty meant he didn't want to betray anything that could put the dragon in danger. He stared at the floor and scuffed the shabby toe of his boot on the floor.

"Um…it was sitting behind me," he admitted. "It looked at me…then sniffed me…then it put its nose against me…and then it suddenly looked up and flew away," he reported. He stared at the floor. "Um…you know how it kills everything? maybe…even _it_ didn't think I was worth the effort." Gobber stared at him and realised his worries: rejected by his home tribe, enslaved and now partially ostracised by the Tribe that had offered him shelter, Hiccup was almost totally lacking in confidence. He could understand why the boy would imagine such a horrible reason for his fortune.

"Nay, laddie-it was yer lucky day!" Gobber assured him. "Thor must've been watching over yer! There was a raid last night-so mebbe the dragon was called away tae attack us!"

 _Called away? By what?_ Hiccup wondered silently, but kept his peace. He didn't want to anger an expert like Gobber with his stupid questions, especially when Gobber was so staunch in his defence of his generally despised apprentice.

"Anyway, laddie-I think we've earned our lunch," Gobber interrupted him brightly, laying a heavy arm across the boy's narrow shoulders. "Hang yer apron up and we can see what's up in the Great Hall!" Offering a little smile, Hiccup hastened to comply and walked up to the Hall a little happier.

Following lunch, Astrid came to the forge and asked if she could steal Hiccup for some weapons training: Gobber was happy to release him with with a broad and very suggestive wink-which had the boy's cheeks burning-and an old sword to practice with. Rubbing the back of his neck as they walked silently up the village to the little space on the edge of the forest, Hiccup sighed.

"Um…sorry," he murmured. Astrid inspected him, her blue gaze cool.

"For what?" she asked, wondering if he was ever going to stand up like a Viking.

"Um, Gobber," he said quietly. "He's…very inappropriate…and I hope you don't think I said anything because I didn't…oh, Thor…" She stopped and stared at him: head down, eyes downcast, face bruised and she folded her arms.

"Hiccup-I know you haven't been saying anything…though others have been…" Her voice was sharp and he guessed Snotlout had been making further unwanted advances. "I know Gobber and frankly, I never pay any attention to what he says! Now…show me how you grip the sword!"

It was another depressing session, his clumsiness and unfamiliarity with the form and technique meaning he was disarmed rapidly and repeatedly by Astrid as she put him through his paces. Undaunted by the size of the task facing her, she decided to switch from direct combat to exercises. It was too easy disarming Hiccup and she could tell the boy was losing his hope that he would ever master the weapon. Astrid knew she would be more determined than ever to be the best and conquer the challenge but she could tell that Hiccup was a very different person to her-and he had be raised in a very different way. She knew little about the Peaceable Islands, except the Hooligans, Meatheads, Lavalouts, Berserkers, UgliThugs, Bog Burglers and the other traditional violent tribes really didn't consider them to be proper Vikings. And there was no way she could deny he was small, skinny and clumsy…but he was also bright, a quick learner and sarcastic. There was something about him, a little spark of determination under the horrible submissive facade that made her want to persevere, want to bring out the true Hiccup, the boy he was meant to be before years of slavery and abuse had all but crushed his spirit.

He stiffened when she walked to his side and took his hand, readjusting his grip on the hilt. "Here…and here…" she said firmly and he winced: her hand had been very strong. He tried to repeat the move she had demonstrated and failed spectacularly, the sword flying from his hand. With a sigh and slump of the shoulders, he walked over, picked the sword up, switched it to his right hand and tried to resume the grip. And then he threw the sword to the ground.

"I don't know why you bother!" he said suddenly, his fists clenched. "I am the most useless person ever!" He stared at the floor. "I-I mean…you're amazing. You move like a Valkyrie and you know exactly what to do and…"

"Hiccup!" Her tone was stern and he stiffened. "Hiccup," she repeated more gently, "I have been training with my axe since I was five years old. I have gone through full formal weapons training since I was ten. I have put in countless hours in achieving the level of skill I have. This is your _second_ lesson, for Thor's sake! Just think…if you put me in the forge, trying to mend or make a sword like you can, the best I would manage would be a blob of metal!" Green eyes peeked from under his messy bangs.

"So I'm a blob?" he asked dryly and her mouth quirked in a small smile.

"More like a splat at present," she told him gently. "But you're better than I was on my first lesson!"

"Um…this is my second…" he reminded her. She lifted the sword and handed it to him.

"Same thing," she assured him and he grasped the sword, taking a breath and lifting his chin.

"Okay…so how does that move go again…?" he asked.

They had been practising for about an hour when the thud of steps sounded and they looked up-to see Snotlout and the twins approach, a selection of unpleasant expressions on their faces. Hiccup parried Astrid's stroke and then stiffened as the familiar voice snarked a comment.

"Well, if it isn't the bed-slave!" he sneered. Astrid's stroke slammed the sword from Hiccup's suddenly loose grip and she glared at him…and then at the new arrivals.

"Go away, Snotlout!" she growled through gritted teeth. "This is private lesson!"

"Hello, Princess!" the young man said in a possessive voice. "If you need to give _private lessons,_ I'm here for you, every day of the week! What are you doing with this piece of yak shit?" She lowered her sword and glared, her eyes flashing in anger at the insinuation in his lewd tone.

"Weapons training!" she sneered.

"Waste of time!" he scoffed. "All he needs to learn is how to bend over and…"

"SNOTLOUT!" she snapped. "Leave him alone! He's done nothing to you-why do you feel you have to keep tormenting him at every opportunity?" The change was dramatic: his face folded to an ugly scowl and he lurched forward a long pace to get in her face.

"I don't like my future wife associating with this trash!" he sneered.

"I'm not your future wife!" she snapped.

"That's not for you to say!" he menaced her. "It's for my Dad to say when he offers the price for your contract, Princess. I'm gonna be Chief and if I want you, I'll have you. So I don't want you tainted by dealing with this slave!"

"You don't get to tell me who I can talk to!" Astrid shouted at him, enraged. In a flash, he grabbed her arm painfully.

"You like him so much, maybe we'll have him as a house slave when we're married," he suggested nastily.

"I am NEVER marrying you!" she hissed.

"You are if I say you are!" he snarled, tightening his grip on her arm.

"Snotlout...let her go," Hiccup said quietly. There was a moment of silence and Snotlout's meaty fist clenched menacingly.

"Push off, slave!" he breathed.

"Astrid…" Hiccup said, stepping forward, his gentle voice reminding her that he was still there.

"It's okay," she said tightly, her fists balled ready to fight her way free.

"No, it's not," the outsider said quietly. His stomach was jumping with fear at seeing Snotlout here with his cronies but Astrid had showed him a lot of patience and he hated seeing her manhandled. "Snotlout, d'you want me to tell your friends why you went into the forest yesterday? D'you think your _future wife_ would be impressed at what you were going to do? Or the rest of the village?" He was trembling from head to toe but he had realised, from the attitude of the villagers towards him, that there was precious little tolerance of anything that defied strict Viking tradition, no matter the circumstances. And Snotlout had a lot more to lose while Hiccup had nothing.

There was a long pause and Snotlout turned bright red, his eyes bulging as he swung his head round to glare at the boy.

"What?" he snapped. Forcing himself to smile, the smaller boy walked forward.

"Do you want the Chief to know?" he breathed. Snotlout stared, all expression falling from his face. His fingers loosened and Astrid pulled free, her sword rising to point directly at his heart.

"You better watch out!" he menaced, backing away. "My Dad hears and you're gonna regret being born!" Trembling, Hiccup watched them leave and then he heard Astrid snort behind him. He turned, forest green eyes suddenly wary.

"What was that about?" she asked him sharply. Taking a deep breath, he guessed he had angered her.

"Sorry…" he began.

"Hiccup…" Her tone was warning. He sagged.

"Look, I saw him in the forest doing…planning…something really inappropriate that I'm sure he doesn't want others to know about…" he suggested. "He's not bright enough to think it through and come up with any response in a hurry so I guessed he would back off…but I guess he'll come and kick the crap outta me later…"

"That's not the Viking way," she explained to him. "A Viking fights…" He sighed.

"Um...not really good at that. Sorry," he said again but she grabbed his hand and forced him to meet her eye.

"And thanks," she said gently. "That was…sweet. You know I don't need protecting…" He nodded, expecting the hit, but she just stared into his face. "But I guess what you were threatening him with was something painful and shameful for you as well, wasn't it?" He nodded.

"You've been so kind and patient," he said wretchedly. "So I would accept whatever they said and did if it made him let you go!"

"I don't think he'll ever let me go," Astrid sighed. "Look-take care, okay? I know he ambushed you yesterday after our lesson and I don't want you hurt on my account." Fiddling with his belt, he shrugged.

"Don't worry-I'll get hurt on mine," he admitted and she swatted his shoulder-not hard, just enough to make him flinch.

"If you need a friend, if you need help…call me!" she said, smiling and then she ran off down the hill.


	14. Chapter 14: Say you felt sorry for me

**Fourteen: Say you felt sorry for me.**

"If you need a friend, if you need help…call me!" Astrid said, smiling and then she ran off down the hill. Watching her go, he gathered up his sword and walked carefully through the centre of the plaza and returned it to the forge. He couldn't believe that he had actually threatened Snotlout with blackmailing him about his kidnapping of Hiccup and his attempt to rape him…and he feared that the boy and his odious father would hunt him down and really make him regret the act. His shoulders were still scored from the beatings they had given him as he slaved in their home and he knew there was precisely nothing he could do to if they ambushed him again. He would have to be very careful where he went and who he was with.

He was still deep in thought as he arrived back at the forge and Gobber was sarcastic at him for dreaming when he asked him how his weapons lesson had gone. His cheeks flared with shame: he doubted that he could be more useless and he knew that even in unarmed combat, he was probably the most hopeless in the village. Gobber read his self-consciousness and brashly-but kindly-teased him about it-and the fact he had the best young warrior in the village as his trainer. Perversely, that made him feel worse, Snotlout's cruel taunt echoing through his memory.

 _I don't want you tainted by dealing with this slave!_

And that was probably what he was doing, he admitted to himself. She was a respected warrior, training to be a Shield Maiden with a high value to her tribe and to her family-and he seemed to be akin to a leper, corrupting all he touched. But he still mustered a small smile at the memory of her kindness and her dazzling smile and turned back to the remaining work at the forge in good heart. He would endure Snotlout's cruelty and the general unfriendliness of the villagers if he could spend a few hours with Astrid and be treated almost as if he was a normal person.

On the way home, he heard something that made his blood run cold: echoing from a small alley between two houses were the sounds of several voices menacing another, which was speaking defiantly back. Every sense of sanity told him that he should walk on by…but he hated the idea that he would allow someone to be menaced and beaten if he could step in. Even though the odds were that he would get his ass handed to him in the process. So he slid through the shadows and saw three boys surrounding a slightly smaller boy. The 'victim' was maybe three or four years younger than Hiccup, maybe a head shorter and much feistier. The kid had a small viking helmet on, jet hair, big grey eyes and scruffy clothes…but he was giving as good as he got in the shouting match. It was only when one of the larger boys-a spotty kid with brown hair and pallid blue eyes-grabbed his vest that Hiccup stepped forward.

"Hey!" he said, grabbing the fist that the spotty boy had raised to punch the smaller boy. Instantly, every eye was on him.

"It's him!"

"The bed slave!"

"OOO! What's he gonna do? Kiss us to death?"

"Let. Him. Go!" Hiccup said firmly, hoping they wouldn't notice his knees were shaking. To his eye, they all looked about the same as as their victims: maybe two or three years his junior…not that made much of a difference. Most people guessed he was about that age because of his small size.

"Or what?" the largest boy asked insolently. He was stocky and strong-looking, his blond hair cut unevenly and blue eyes scornful-and he was already taller and broader than Hiccup.

"Guess…" Hiccup suggested, narrowing his green eyes. "Guess what I learned during years on Meathead and Berserk?" The other two turned to face him directly, letting the smaller boy go.

"Hah! Like you learned anything except…" the 'victim' piped up, his grey eyes growing cold as he looked at his would-be rescuer.

"Shut up, Gustav!" the larger boy growled. "I wanna know what this…this _girl_ …thinks he can do to us!"

"Um…I wouldn't use the word 'girl' as an insult in Astrid's hearing," he advised them and then backed up a pace as all _four_ boys lined up against him. "But did you wonder why Snotlout has a bloody nose and a black eye? And who gave them to him?"

They all laughed in his face and he backed up another pace.

"That's hilarious!" they scoffed. "You-fighting Snot? You must think we're idiots, slave? We all know you're a coward-hiding in the Hall during the Raid when the rest of us were out defending our homes! D'you think anyone will believe you're anything but a coward? A Viking must fight! And you're not a Viking!"

He couldn't help it, his shoulders curled and his head dropped at the insult. It had taken a lot of courage to go in the direction of the voices, to put himself at risk in a village where he seemed to be almost universally despised to help someone being threatened…but he had because he knew it was the right thing to do. They started laughing at him and he backed up, then ran, heading in the direction of the forge. he knew it was closed but there was a small entrance at the back where he could hide and compose himself, where he could forget that everyone in this village thought he was utterly worthless-even the dragons.

oOo

It was almost dusk when he felt safe enough to emerge, his ears still ringing with the shameful laughter. With a shiver of dismay, he realised that no matter what he tried, Alva had done her work well in making them see him not as Hiccup but as a bed-slave and something to be despised. He knew he had worth, that he worked hard in the forge, that he was learning to use a weapon and that he wanted to fit in…but no one was prepared to give him a chance…no one except Stoick, Gobber, Astrid and Fishlegs. And then he sighed: four names. That was four more people who were prepared to be friends to him than had been for almost four long years. Achingly, he pulled himself to his feet.

The temperature was dropping and he could see the flickering of lamps and fires under the doors of houses. The shadows were deeper and he felt a sense of foreboding, wondering what in the name of all the Gods had possessed him to try to blackmail Snotlout after Spitelout's bone-chilling threat the previous night. He hastened his walk up towards the Chief's house, seeing the silhouette of the roof against the pink sky and hoped that Stoick hadn't heard about the way he had been chased away by the younger boys: he didn't want to embarrass the Chief any more.

He caught voices again, floating from another dark alley. Hunching his shoulders, he dug his chin into his chest and made to walk past, having learnt his lesson…and then he heard the sounds of a child's voice, hitching with tears. He froze, glancing around the plaza and seeing he was the only one there. And he wondered what sort of village this was, where bullying and violence seemed to be an everyday thing. The voice sounded again, high and soft and _female…_ this time, they were picking on a small girl. He sighed, then turned and trotted into the gloom, treading softly as he closed on the confrontation. And then he felt an unfamiliar curl of anger warm his chest.

The four boys-including the possible victim, 'Gustav'-were surrounding a much younger girl, maybe five or six only and holding a cloth doll protectively to her chest. As Hiccup listened, they sneered and taunted her, pushing her around and then grabbing her doll.

"Give her back!" the little girl shouted, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"Awww…come and get her, Eva!" the spotty boy sneered, holding the doll out of her reach. She ran at him, jumping fearlessly, her little blonde plait bouncing as she snatched at the doll, moved cruelly out of reach. He threw the doll to the largest boy and then over to Gustav, who wafted it in front of the girl then snatched it away from her swift grasp. Cruelly, he shoved her back and she stumbled and landed on the ground.

"Give it back!" she shouted, her cheeks red with anger and upset, scrabbling to her feet. She ran at Spotty but he pushed her down again-hard-and grabbed the doll.

"Say please!" he sneered.

"Say sorry!" she replied spiritedly, scrambling up and jumping for the doll. They threw her down again and kicked her. The boy ripped an arm off her doll.

"Say _please_ or I'll tear her to bits!" he sneered.

Hiccup hit him waist high, the momentum carrying them both to the ground. The boy was bigger than him but Hiccup had managed to pin him, ripping the doll from his grasp with hands stronger than expected by his work in the forge and years of hard manual labour as a slave.

"Get off her!" he said coldly, tossing the doll to the little girl. His forest green gaze flicked to look at her shocked face, seeing relief and gratitude in her azure eyes. "Run!" he told her and she needed no further encouragement, dodging past the other boys and making the plaza, then vanishing. Spotty threw Hiccup and he rolled, seeing the boys regain their senses and decide there was more fun to be had here. He got up, backing away, his fists raised. It had been an instinctive reaction, a desire to protect a smaller person cruelly victimised as he had been-and still was. The boys closed on him and he knew this wouldn't end well. And then the first punch landed…

But he fought back, not caring that they were probably younger than him because they were almost all-except Gustav-larger than him. And though they didn't hold him helpless as the twins had, they did outflank him and though he landed a few good shots-because he _had_ bruised Snotlout, no matter what the boys had sneered at him-he was coming out the wrong end of the fight. One against four was never going to be good odds and as Hiccup slid to the floor, lip bleeding and eye bruising, he realised that he was going to regret this.

The fourth kick had slammed into his side and his head was spinning when he heard a shout and a sudden movement had the boys backing away. A confident, menacing shape was approaching, the dull reflected pink light of sunset gleaming across the keen edge of an axe.

"I suggest you go now before I really get angry!" Astrid growled to the boys, twirling her axe menacingly. They all backed off.

"It's only a bit of fun…" Spotty said defensively.

"Yeah, really looks like it, Espen!" Astrid snapped. "Gustav-I hear your mother has been calling for you for ten minutes. She sounded _really_ mad!" The smaller boy gulped and ran without a backwards glance. "Ove-your nose is bleeding onto your tunic: your mother will be furious." Said boy-the fourth, a scrawny lad with brown hair and eyes, swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his tunic, showing he was stupid as well as violent. "And you, Jorn…" Her azure gaze turned coldly on the largest boy who still had a handful of Hiccup's tunic in his hand. "…if I catch you again, I will ensure that Gobber doesn't take you on in Dragon Training until you are old and grey. Understand?"

"Yes, Astrid!" the reluctant and resentful voices mumbled as Hiccup was dropped onto the ground.

"Now GO!" she snapped and watched them leave, her fingers tapping on the haft of her axe. Slowly, Hiccup rolled to his knees, everything aching and his cheeks scorching with embarrassment as he realised she had just saved him from another beating. _Could he get any more useless?_ But she walked forward and stuck out a hand in business-like way, hauling him to his feet and watching him press the heel of his hand to his lip.

"Th-thanks…" he murmured, staring hard at the floor. She sighed, her expression softening and gently leading him back out into the gloomy plaza, breaths coming in small clouds now. As soon as he was there, a small shape crashed into his middle, drawing a wince and causing him to stiffen in fear…until he realised it was the little girl, Eva.

"Thank you!" she said happily, her small arms managing to get almost all the way round his very skinny waist. "Thank you! You saved Bente!" He frowned as he glanced down.

"I…um…" he said, confused as she lifted her head to smile happily at him and then showed him her damaged rag doll.

"Those boys were going to hurt her and you saved her!" she told him with childish logic, ignoring the fact that she had also been in danger of being hurt. He gently returned the hug.

"You're welcome…" he admitted.

"EVA!" The harsh voice rang across the plaza and the girl lifted her head, her eyes worried. She pulled away from Hiccup and turned to face the blonde woman, storming down the plaza and grabbing her hand urgently. "Eva! What have I told you? Stay away from that boy! He's some tainted, nasty slave. He services _men!_ He's just…trash!" Head dropping, the little girl stared at her doll and nodded.

"Okay, Mom. Sorry. I won't forget again," she said in a small voice and was dragged away, the woman casting Hiccup a deeply unpleasant look. He sighed and rested a hand against his bruised side.

"Thanks," he said in an embarrassed voice, stealing a look at Astrid, who was glaring after the woman.

"Stupid…" she murmured, shaking her head before she turned back to look at him, seeing the fresh bruises on his face. Unexpectedly, she grabbed his tunic and dragged him close, pressing a firm kiss on his lips.

Eyes popping in shock, senses overloaded with awe at her soft lips, her fresh scent of pine and honeysuckle and the softness of her hair as is brushed his face, he froze. He had no clue what was going on or why but something in his chest exploded and for that moment, he would endure a hundred beatings if this moment could last forever.

It didn't: too soon, she pulled away with a soft smile of thanks on her lips. He was trembling and not daring to breathe as she laid a hand on his bruised cheek.

"Thank you," she said, "for saving my sister." He blinked in utter shock: Astrid's _sister?_ The Gods really did enjoy playing with him, didn't they?

"Y-you're welcome," he managed in a squeak and she giggled: it had been so unmanly! He was already cringing inwardly as she punched him in the arm and he yelped. "Wh-what was that for?" he whimpered.

"For getting beaten up!" she told him. He frowned.

"Um…why does punching me for getting beaten up make _any_ sense to you?" he asked warily and she smiled, giving him a friendly shove that nearly pushed him over.

"It's the Viking way," she explained. "It's how we communicate!" And then she saw his wariness and had to remind herself that he had probably experienced a lot of that sort of communication-for all the wrong reasons. Unbidden, a smile warned her beautiful face and her eyes shone: despite the treatment he had experienced, he had still jumped in to save a young girl from four much larger boys, knowing he couldn't fight well enough to protect himself. And that was bravery which any Viking should admire. She took his hand.

"You know, Hiccup, I think it's time for the evening meal in the Great Hall," she said and he stared at her, still reeling from the kiss. "You wanna come?"

"You want _me_ to come with you?" His voice was very wary, suspicious that this was some prelude to another humiliation. She nodded, her grip on his hand tightening.

"Yes, Hiccup-I want to be seen in the Great Hall eating with the man who rescued my sister from four bullies!" she told him firmly. There was a long pause…and then his forest green eyes sparkled with delight and shone with gratitude.

"Th-thank you," he said in a humble voice. "I…you don't know how much that means to me…" She pulled him towards the steps up to the Hall and grinned.

"No…but I want to," she assured him. "That's what friends are for."

He kept expecting Snotlout or Spitelout or maybe Thor himself to fall on him as he walked up the very long flight of stairs in the hill that led to the Great Hall with Astrid still holding his hand. It was certain that he had upset some fundamental law of nature by even being in the company of the most beautiful girl on Berk and he surreptitiously carded his free hand through his wild, tousled auburn hair and tried to wipe the blood from his face with the rag Astrid had given him. But as they approached the double doors, the warm light spilling through and the murmur of voices and waft of warmth emerging, he paused and pulled her back.

"Are-are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her earnestly. "I-I mean, you've seen how they look at me? I don't want them looking at you like that as well! You-you go ahead and I'll come in afterwards. At least that way you don't have to be shamed by being with me." She paused and her eyes narrowed.

"Don't you _want_ to eat with me?" she asked him pointedly and he shook his head urgently.

"No, no, no, no no…I mean yes I do…but I don't want you to be made to feel shamed by being with me," he gabbled frantically, his arms waving wildly. Then suddenly, all the fight oozed from his body. "I really like you, Astrid," he admitted in a tiny voice, "and I am more grateful than I can ever say that you're helping me learn to use a sword. I just don't want you to be ruined by being seen with me…" Inclining her head, she inspected his pale face, reading his genuine concern for her. She caught his hand again and smiled.

"It'll be okay," she reassured him. "I'm a warrior: I can stand a little pain!"

"Yeah…but being anywhere near me seems to cause a _lot_ of pain," he sighed.

The level of noise dropped noticeably as they walked in, side by side and Astrid lifted her chin, smiled and walked confidently forward. Hiccup followed, his head down and walking very self-consciously. The murmurs began as he began to pass the people already seated, hisses and comments that cause him the flinch in shame and cast a worried glance at Astrid, who was already at the pots, sniffing what was on offer and grabbing a couple of bowls. Hiccup came up and frowned: it smelled like a hearty fish stew and rye bread and Astrid very pointedly tore him a large hunk and filled his bowl to the brim before serving herself. He accepted with a smile and watched her carry on as if everything was normal. It was only when she lifted her bowl and a cup of watered mead that she met a wall of blank stares. Frowning she turned to look at the boy by her side, his shoulders rounded and eyes downcast. The murmurs were audible, people pointing at her as if she was some exotic beast and she snapped her head back to glare at them as well. Then she marched to a nearby table and pointedly sat down, beckoning Hiccup to join her. But as he approached, the other three people sitting at the end of the table got up and moved dispersing to other tables in the Hall. Astrid stiffened and stared after them, her mouth agape.

"As I said, I cause a lotta pain," Hiccup said in a small voice. He saw her cheeks flushed with anger and…embarrassment? And then he sighed: she hadn't realised exactly what it would be like…and now she was wondering how she could get out of the well-meaning gesture she had made which could damage her so catastrophically. "I don't mind," he added softly. "Go to your family or friends. regain your honour. Tell them you felt sorry for me, that I was really pathetic…but for the Gods sake, go! I don't want you harmed any more!"

She stared at him and read the honest concern in his battered face…and she gave a small smile, nodding with thanks for understanding as she rose and grabbed her plate, rising from the bench and turning away. And then she looked back and saw the small, skinny shape, bowed at the table, the plate sitting untouched in front of him, his head staring at the table: she turned round and saw the intensity of the glares that shot hatefully at the outsider. And then she looked back: what had he done that was wrong? He had been sold into slavery by his village, treated monstrously cruelly and beaten and raped as a consequence. Their Chief, Stoick, had taken pity on the young man and rescued him…but the village hadn't seen past the history he had no control over. And what he did have control over was his conduct here-working hard, supporting the forge, learning a weapon…and rescuing her sister. She pointedly turned back and sat at his side, seeing him jump in shock as her plate banged down again by his.

"And I don't want you harmed either," she told him gently. "But every time they call you names and exclude you from the village you supposedly live in, it does hurt you, doesn't it?" He paused then gave a small poke at the stew aimlessly with his spoon. "I-I don't understand why they treat me like this…well, I _do_ , but it's nothing I could do anything about," he said quietly. "I-I try so hard but all I get is constant reminders of times I will never forget and need _no_ reminder of." He swallowed. "But I am an outsider and though your Chief is very kind, he cannot control his people. So I am a pariah and this seems to be my life. And I hope, in the Spring, when ships come in, I may be able to hitch a passage away from here, to some place where no one will know what happened in the Port, where no one will keep calling me a slave and reminding me of the most horrific day of my life!"

"Hiccup…" she began, munching her stew quietly. " I can see who you are. Who you _really_ are. And though you aren't big and strong, you are brave and determined. I know you will learn to use that sword and I know one day, you will develop the confidence you need."

"Yeah…one day," he muttered, taking a tiny mouthful of the stew. "Maybe when I'm a hundred…"

"What are you doing over here, Princess?" Both teens sighed at the unwelcome sound of Snotlout's voice, floating arrogantly across the Hall as the Heir walked over, his blue eyes sweeping calculatingly across the battered shape of Hiccup. "What is _he_ doing with you?"

"Eating his meal," Astrid said calmly, taking another mouthful. Snotlout sat across from her, the twins and Fishlegs standing behind him. Hiccup's green gaze flicked up in dismay at the sight of the husky boy, who was looking embarrassed. And Hiccup understood-he really did! Fishlegs had been given a choice to be Hiccup's friend or be part of the popular crowd and he had chosen the winner, the Heir: it was the only logical choice. He knew the large boy was timid and lacking in self confidence so he could hardly blame the boy for looking out for himself. He just hoped that maybe the boy may still talk to him when no one else was around.

"But he's a filthy little man-whore and you're my future Chieftess!" Snotlout pointed out. "You get seen with him and your price goes down. Maybe I might even not want you any more." Her blue eyes flicked up and her face hardened.

"Good," she said. As Snotlout's fists clenched, Hiccup felt his own body tense, anticipating another beating as soon as Snotlout cornered him.

"Babe," he said in a low, menacing voice, "you wouldn't like Berk if you aren't my Chieftess. Because I will have you one day-and I think you'd like it better as my wife than the alternative…" He paused and his cruel gaze flicked to Hiccup. "And _you…_ better pray you're dead or gone when I become Chief-because your life will be a living Hel if you are on Berk on that day!"

"Snotlout…you lay a hand on me against my will-Chief or not-and you will lose that hand. Understand?" Astrid asked him sweetly. The boy glared at her.

"Your father will sell you to me when I ask it," he threatened. "So you better get used to it…babe!" And he got up and stalked away. Hiccup rubbed his forehead, shaking his head miserably. Astrid snorted.

"He's an idiot," she scoffed.

"Yeah, noticed that," Hiccup sighed. "Gods help this island if he becomes Chief. He'll get you killed within a week…probably because he's too busy preening to notice whatever threat is coming or makes a dumb decision due to temper or arrogance.."

"Hiccup…what was staying with him like?" she asked him in a quiet voice. He started tearing his hunk of bread into smaller and smaller pieces, aimlessly reducing the hunk to crumbs.

"You-you don't wanna know," he murmured wretchedly. Her hand gently landed on his wrist and he stilled, his shamed forest green eyes flicking up to meet her gentle blue gaze.

"I-I think I may need to," she sighed. "He's right about one thing: if his father offers enough money, my father will agree a marriage contract with him and I will be honour- and duty-bound to wed him." Hiccup shuddered.

"Um…it's all about Snotlout," he admitted. "He's very selfish, self-centred and tolerates nothing that goes against what he wants. He's a coward, a liar and a lazy and greedy idiot. Oh, and his personal hygiene is very questionable." He shuddered and she stared at him: his words had been toneless, consciously hiding his emotional response to the memory. With a jolt of shock, she realised that his time with the Jorgensens had been much worse than he was letting on.

"Wow. Something to look forward to," she sighed sarcastically.

"ASTRID!"

"And now my father…" she groaned. Hiccup flinched and curled up tighter, hearing fury in the man's voice. Ivar Hofferson was a tall, imposing man with blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his oldest daughter, but he was powerfully built and everything about him screamed of his pride in his beautiful and accomplished warrior daughter. Both the teens looked up as he stormed over, his face ruddy with fury that she was jeopardising her reputation by such wilful stupidity. With a sigh, she glanced up and met her father's angry glare.

"What do you think you're doing, Astrid? Come away at once!" he snapped.

"Father, I..." she began, trying to explain but Ivar Hofferson was beyond listening.

"Do you not realise how much of your value you could damage by associating with this slave?" he snapped. "I must insist that you come over and sit away from this...thing."

"But Father he..."

"No, Astrid! You are my daughter and it is my duty to protect you!" he told her sternly. "Your price can be rapidly devalued by such an unwise act! Get up-now!" She glanced up and read an order that she dared not obey, dipping her head in reluctant obedience. Peering though her bangs, she flicked an apologetic azure gaze at Hiccup, reading absolution. He gave a small nod as she lifted her plate again and rose.

"Sorry," she breathed so softly her father wouldn't hear but he stared at the plate and said nothing, though his shoulders had slumped.

"Going so soon?" a familiar voice asked and all three turned to see the Chief walking towards the table with his own bowl of stew and Gobber at his side. Turning and trying to change the grim expression on his face, Ivar Hofferson nodded curtly.

"I am afraid so, Chief," he said firmly. "My wife wishes to speak with my daughter…"

"A shame…since I also wished to speak to Astrid," Stoick said mildly, stopping by the table. "Especially since I presume your wife can speak with Astrid later when you return home…" Ivar ground his teeth but gave a small nod.

"As you say, Stoick," he said emotionlessly. "Astrid-be polite to the Chief. We will discuss this later at home."

"Yes, Father," she said calmly and sat back down by Hiccup. Watching Ivar march off, Stoick sat opposite the teens and inspected them closely.

"Thank you, Astrid," he said. "I really am very grateful that you are teaching Hiccup how to fight. I think…his inexperience would mean the other teens wouldn't treat him well if I asked him to join formal weapons training."

"I understand, sir," she said calmly. "I believe you are right. And I promise I will continue with his lessons." The Chief nodded and turned his attentions to Hiccup, sitting staring at his stew. He was picking at it, hungry but so self-conscious he couldn't bring himself to do anything but eat quietly. With a flash of insight, Astrid realised she had made him feel worse, with so many eyes on him and so many people demanding she step away from him. Her keen eyes picked out the tremble in his hand as he lifted his spoon.

"Hmm…it looks as if you have been practising without Astrid," the Chief commented, taking a huge mouthful of stew. Hiccup started, horribly conscious of the new bruises.

"Um…yeah…" he murmured. Stoick put his spoon down and stared at the boy, knowing full well that Hiccup wasn't a fighter because he knew he would come out second best.

"Would you care to tell me why?" Stoick's tone was a little cooler than he meant because he had the security and peace in the village to consider. Hiccup sighed, feeling Gobber's eyes on him as well.

"I heard four boys bullying and shoving around a young girl so I tried to stop them," he admitted. "I managed to get her away but then it didn't go so well. Well, four against one never does…so…um…I really need those lessons…" Stoick stared at him and his eyes narrowed. "Um…I had to be rescued by Astrid but that's okay because she did come to help me and I'm sorry…" Hiccup dropped his head.

"You ran to stop four boys all on your own?" the Chief checked. "Who were they?"

"Ove Halvardson, Gustav Larson, Espen Nilson and Jorn Ulrickson," Astrid reported smartly.

"Hmm…" Stoick's expression was calculating. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention." Eating quietly, Hiccup felt his stomach sink. The moment the Chief intervened, there would be four more people in the village with a particular grudge against him, four more families that would make his life Hel. His forest green gaze flicked up and he saw the glare in Ivar Hofferson's eyes. Scratch that-five. And he knew in his heart, no matter Astrid's intentions, that he would not be allowed to have any more weapons lessons with Astrid Hofferson.


	15. Chapter 15: Nowhere Near Me

**Fifteen: Nowhere Near Me.**

Hiccup wasn't at all surprised when Astrid didn't arrive as usual after lunch to take him for his weapon's training. In fact, he saw her walk the long way round the Plaza to avoid coming anywhere near the Forge and he felt his heart sink: clearly her father had forbidden her to have anything to do with him. He sighed then turned back to the next weapon on the pile…and then he stared: it was Astrid's axe. Reverently, he caressed the smooth, well-loved wood of the handle and peered at the dull gleam of the precise blade. It might be the closest he was allowed to get to her ever again.

Gobber watched him closely, still lightly bruised from his encounters with the bullies, and his thick unibrow dipped at the way his emerald gaze trailed over the Plaza whenever the lithe, blonde shape in the kransen and the studded leather skirt walked purposefully by, her eyes directed anywhere but the forge. The big blacksmith wondered if he imagined the small sigh the boy gave as she vanished.

"I'm sure she's busy wi' her parent's jobs," he said reassuringly to the boy but Hiccup flicked his eyes up and his face fell.

"Or maybe they don't want her anywhere near me," he sighed. "After all, everyone was glaring at me like a leper or an Outcast…and Astrid as well…" His hand gently trailed over the axe and he sighed, then took it to the grindstone and cautiously refreshed the edge, then gave the axe a vigorous polish. Gobber stared at the boy.

"You could always take it back to her," Gobber said cheerfully. "In fact you could do all my deliveries…" Hiccup's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"Thor, no…" he whimpered. "Gods, I'm just about safe here with you to warn them off…what the Hel will happen when I turn up with their precious weapons, apparently touching them and so making them cursed by the Gods? I'll be lucky to escape with my life!" Gobber's thick unibrow dipped as he scowled at the anxious boy.

"If I ask my apprentice to do the deliveries, I expect him to do them!" he growled and for a second, Hiccup felt a thrill of fear down his spine. His head bowed.

"Yes, Gobber," he said defeatedly and went to collect the cart, his head bowed and shoulders hunched. The two-limbed man almost called after Hiccup but the boy had already gathered the finished weapons and was trying to work out where everyone lived. With a defeated sigh, he struggled with the cart and headed up the village.

His first stop was the Hoffersons' home-because it was the only one that Hiccup knew for definite-and he held Astrid's axe tenderly for a long second before he knocked on the door-and waited. There was a pause…and then Astrid opened the door. The boy's eyes widened and he stumbled back a step. "A-Astrid…?" he mumbled, then shook himself. "I-I brought your axe back. Um…good as new…" he added, blushing. She took it silently, then closed the door behind her. He swallowed miserably and stared at the blank wood for a long moment, then turned away, his heart in his boots. She wouldn't even speak to him…but was he surprised? He had been rejected by his family, orphaned by the people who had adopted him, enslaved by his tribe, abused hideously in the port and basically persecuted by the Jorgensens. Why would the most beautiful, fierce and accomplished girl on Midgard want anything to do with him?

Sighing, he turned away and tried to work out next where Magnus Harildson lived…

oOo

That night, he was lying in his bed- _his bed, how amazing was that?_ -and stared at the wooden roof above his head, his green eyes wide. He had endured an afternoon of sneers and cold stares, precious little help despite his polite enquiries about where to find the various customers. So he had walked up and down the village for half the afternoon going pillar to post to return the weapons…with not a single word of thanks. Gobber had reassured the boy that he would collect the money later and thanked him but Hiccup had just felt horrible, once again ostracised by the village he had been taken to and was trying to help.

He blinked. The image that kept rolling around his head was Astrid's face, carefully blank as she took her beautiful axe and closed the door in his face. Astrid who had defended him. Astrid who had deliberately and kindly taken him to eat. Astrid who had almost certainly been chastised by her father for risking her honour by being seen with him. He flung his arm across his face. It had been stupid, he knew, but he had been enjoying having her as a friend, even enjoying the humiliation of his utter hopelessness with a weapon because it meant spending time with her. But it seemed that dream was over and once again, he was friendless and isolated.

 _Except for Gobber and the Chief,_ he reminded himself sternly. _Gods, you are so lucky that the Chief is so kind to you. And Gobber…well, he is patient and sarcastic and makes you feel so…normal. Face it…this is a hundred times better than freezing in the port…or worse…_

There was a thud overhead and his eyes snapped open, hitching himself up on his elbows and staring at the wooden roof. There were steps up there and he felt a cold thrill of fear clutch his heart, fearing Snotlout was coming for him. His hand snatched at the dagger, lying on the little table by his bed and holding it in a shaking hand as the roof hatch creaked open. A body dropped through and he scrambled back, holding the knife in both trembling hands as he stared wildly at the intruder.

"It's me," Astrid said.

"Oh, thank Thor!" Hiccup said shakily, lowering his knife. "What are you doing here? I thought..." The girl sighed, realising who she had feared had broken into his room.

"My father forbade me to speak to you or have anything to do with you again," she admitted and his shoulders slumped. He took a deep breath.

"I understand," he said wearily. "It's kind of you to explain..." She dropped to her knees on the bed by him and shook her head.

"No, you don't," she told him urgently. "I will choose my own friends and make my own judgement on people. And you have done nothing wrong, Hiccup." Green eyes flicked up to scan her determined face: in the dim light, she really was very beautiful.

"Some people consider that my just being here is wrong," he reminded her. Her blonde eyebrows dipped into a scowl.

"People who profit from making others feel bad and who enjoy hurting others," she admitted. "Look, I heard your story, as did Fishlegs and we both know the truth. I'm just sorry other people don't have the decency to understand that you were not to blame." He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment and blushed. That Astrid, who was beautiful, brave, skilled with the axe and clearly an outstanding Viking, was here in his bedroom trying to make him feel better only made him feel horribly self conscious. He nodded warily.

"I don't want you to get into trouble," he admitted. "The weird thing about shame is that it seems to have no reason, no mitigation and no expiry date. I have been shamed and no matter what I do, that will never change. You are without stain...but being with me would change that...and I don't want to harm you." He sighed. "You are my friend," he murmured softly. "And I couldn't let that hurt you..."

She stared at him for a long moment...then lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his skinny shape. Shocked, he stiffened...and then hugged her back, closing his eyes for a brief moment at the warmth briefly surrounding him. "Mutton-head," she whispered in his ear. "I'm not about to let my father or anyone stop me helping you and being the friend you need." He stared at her and she gave a small smile.

"Why?" he asked her. "I-I mean I couldn't be more grateful but you've known me for a few days and everyone is against me...while you are beautiful and brave and skilled and respected...why would you risk that to be associated with me?" She gave a grim smile.

"I am a Hofferson," she told him. "I was small as a child and though I am quick and accurate, I'm not as physically strong as the others." Hiccup doubted that but kept silent. "Snot lost is a vile bully and he used to pick on Fishlegs and me when we were younger. Now he doesn't only because Fishlegs is huge and he thinks I am pretty and wants to marry me." She paused. "I will dedicate my life to Freya before I marry that pig!" she added fiercely. Then she sighed. "But we are shamed as well...one reason why my father doesn't want to risk my value in being seen with you."

Hiccup was shaking his head. "I don't believe that..." he murmured. She sat back on her heels.

"It's true," she admitted. "My Uncle was a great warrior-'Fearless' Finn Hofferson. Everyone respected him and admired him. A little under ten years ago, when I was a small girl of five, a dragon called the Flightmare attacked our village. It comes every ten years, when Arvindal's Fire lights the sky, and wreaks destruction on Berk. Uncle Finn vowed to protect us and ran to meet it...but as he faced it...he froze. I had slipped away and saw it. He seemed to be trying to move, but nothing happened. I saw..." She faltered and her eyes shone. She blinked a couple of times and swallowed. "I saw it kill him. I could see he was angry and confused. He remained Fearless...but Spitelout Jorgensen and Hoark said he had frozen from fear and the Hoffersons were dishonoured. I am their hope for redemption...but I know the Jorgensens will just try to buy me as a bride when I threaten Snotlout's position as best warrior in the village and turn me from a warrior to brood mare for that obnoxious toad."

Hiccup stared at her and gently rested a hand on her shoulder...then gave her a hug. She froze for a second...then hugged him back.

"You are amazing," he told her. "I can't believe these people hold something like that against you! Why should something a dragon did to your Uncle hang over you like a cloud?"

"This is Berk," she sighed. Hiccup shrugged. It made no sense but he was an outsider-what would he know?

"I understand," he murmured. "Thanks for coming, Astrid. At least I know..." She swatted his shoulder irritably.

"I'm here for your lesson!" she snapped. His eyes widened.

"Um...here?" he gulped, imagining Stoick racing up the stairs at the racket. She face-palmed.

"No, in the forest," she told him. He frowned.

"I thought there was a curfew...?" he murmured. She gave a grin.

"Your house is right at the top edge of the village and you can easily sneak out and into the forest without being seen," she told him calmly.

"In the dark…with all those wild dragons," Hiccup murmured. "Boy, you take the 'Fearless' thing seriously…" She gave a sudden small smile.

"I try," she admitted. "I want to be known as 'Fearless' Astrid Hofferson. And I can't if I am afraid of my father and let him break a promise I made." Hiccup stared at the girl as she inspected her hands briefly. "I promised I would help you with your weapon skills, Hiccup. And I never break a promise!" She paused, brushing the bangs from over her left eye and then darted forward, her lips planting a fast kiss on his cheek. "And I promised Eva I would give you that if I saw you again. When I saw you again…"

Hiccup stared, his cheeks suddenly scorching red in shock and embarrassment and a shaking hand raised to the bruised skin, on fire from the the gentle kiss. And while it was purportedly from a grateful five year old, the fact that _Astrid Hofferson_ had softly kissed his cheek had totally thrown him. An unfamiliar warmth stirred in his breast that he really knew was probably wrong and almost definitely illegal, given his abysmally low status in the village.

"G-glad to h-hear it…" he mumbled. She gave a small laugh at his complete discomposure and then scrambled to her feet.

"C'mon," she said and gestured. "It doesn't look too hard to get out of here…" Hiccup paused, then grabbed his fur vest and hauled his small fur boots on before neatly folding his blankets. "I've got your sword," Astrid added as she easily clambered up and scrambled through the hatch. Hiccup frowned, then followed her lead, realising the route wasn't that hard. He quietly closed the hatch to keep in what heat there was and followed Astrid down to the frosty grass. The moon was cast its silvery light and deep black shadows but Astrid knew where she was going, padding determinedly through the edges of the forest onto a well-worn track that Hiccup realised with shock and a frisson of fear was the way that Spitelout had brought him back when the dragon raid had saved him from another horrific assault at his and his son's hands. He sped up to walk a little closer to Astrid.

There were a few rustles and the odd dragon cry that had him jumping but which Astrid was calm with. Her axe was slung across her back and she was carrying the practice swords and as she walked, Hiccup noticed her balance was perfect, her weight centred and head held high. She was a little taller than he was and slender but lithe and he could see the faint outlines of muscles in her arms. she had trained herself to be much stronger than she was naturally because she had to be and there was a resolve in her flawless face that made him straighten his own back and stride after her.

She led them to a small open meadow in the middle of the forest, the edges all bordered by tall pines, their dark trunks clear of branches until they reached about forty feet in height: they almost looked like the thick bars of a cage arena…and Hiccup briefly stiffened at the memory. The Meatheads had tried putting the weakling slave in fights as well with their own youngsters but that had been as successful as putting him in the fields. Beaten and battered and almost killed twice, they had decided the only satisfaction he would give them would be in recouping their gold…so they had sold him to the Captain. He blinked, pulling himself back to the wide clearing, the crunch of frosty grass loud as they stood under the brilliant star-smeared sky, breath coming in clouds.

"Okay…I really want you to show me what we practised," Astrid said, her sword in her hand and Hiccup grabbed his sword, unconsciously adjusted the grip and lunged at her. There was the clang of iron against iron and he swung as she had told him, bending his knees to bring his whole weight to bear in every stroke. Astrid's eyes widened in shock as the impacts steadily drove her back. Green eyes narrowed, face locked in concentration, Hiccup gave one final blow and slapped the sword from her stinging fingers, then turned, the point of the sword hovering inches from her chest. And then his eyes widened, his face looked shocked and he dropped the sword, backing away.

"i-I'm sorry!" he gabbled, cringing back. "I-I don't know what happened….please, forgive me…" She looked at him-really looked-and her eyes narrowed.

"What was that?" she demanded. His shoulders hunched.

"Oh Thor…I just d-did what you asked me to do…" he said softly. She stared at him.

"But…how…?" she asked. He gaped and lifted the sword. He stared at it ashamedly.

"I-I don't know…" he murmured. "I-I just…did it…" She frowned and then she gasped.

"You're holding the sword in your left hand…" she realised, her blue eyes widening. Hiccup flinched and swiftly switched back to his right hand, the grip once again clumsy and awkward-looking. "Hiccup-which hand do you write and draw with?"

"My left. Sorry." She frowned.

"You defeated me with your left hand…but you're pretty hopeless with your right," she admitted.

"Sorry. I'll try harder." he mumbled defeatedly. She grasped his hand and ducked her head slightly to peer into his shamed green eyes.

"You don't understand…what you did was amazing, Hiccup!" she reassured him urgently. "I have been training in arms all my life-and you defeated me with the sword after two lessons! And those were with your wrong hand!" His eyes flicked up and a small smile lifted his lips.

"Um…really?" he asked.

"I mean, your form is all wrong and it was probably lucky you disarmed me but…Thor, that was scary," she admitted. Hiccup's shoulders straightened a little and he lowered the sword, walking closer to her.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to scare anyone," he admitted. "I need all the help I can get because I really don't have a clue…" She gently rested her hand on his and gave a little smile.

"I think you do…and you have some real potential there…but fighting left-handed," she told him. "I think it's even more important that you learn with me…because if the Chief has to put you in weapons training, the others will tease you because you fight with the wrong hand." She paused and her grip tightened slightly. "Don't listen to them, Hiccup. They have been taught all their lives and you could be better than them all with the sword." She chewed her lip. "I want to continue training you. I want to be your friend…but I may have to ignore you if anyone is around because my father would be furious…"

"I understand," he said softly. "Not that it's anything unusual, people ignoring me…shouting names at me…demanding I am treated as worthless…" He sighed. "Just…can I ask you don't call me names, please? It…it would hurt so much more if you did it…" She gave a small, grin smile.

"I promise," she sighed, "because the truth is that in this, I'm not Fearless. I'm afraid of what my Dad will do…and he has threatened that if I am stupid and associate with you, he may be forced to enforce a marriage to the only person who would take someone shamed by associating with you."

"Snotlout," Hiccup breathed, closing his eyes. "Gods damn it…does he ruin everything in this village?" Astrid nodded.

"The Jorgensens are powerful and rich while my family…isn't," she sighed. "But I am not giving up on you. Hiccup…and I promise I will train you, no matter what!" He gave her a small smile.

"Then I will work as hard as I can to make you proud," he murmured, "and Astrid…if you want anything…if you need anything…I will always help." She gave him a dazzling smile and then scooped up her sword, backing up.

"Okay, Hiccup," she smirked. "Let's run through your exercises again…" He smiled and lifted his sword in his left hand.

"Yes, Milady," he said.

They practised for another hour until Hiccup was exhausted. Using his left hand, the hand he naturally used for forging, drawing, hammering meant he was far more coordinated and his utterly shattered self-confidence received a little tiny boost and Astrid was her usual efficient self as teacher…but she was pleased with his progress and encouraging every time he managed to show even a small improvement in his skill level. In fact, a night which had started with him wondering if he would ever have any friends or ever learn to use a weapon had turned into a cold, moonlight dream. And he felt a little pang of grief when Astrid yawned and reluctantly admitted they needed to head back and get some sleep. Yawning, the girl collected the swords and stowed them in a hollow tree…but as she walked back to Hiccup, she froze, her blue eyes widening and face paling in utter shock and horror.

"Hiccup!" she hissed. "Don't move!"

He froze, eyes wide and entire body tense. "Why?" he asked breathlessly.

"Because there's a dragon right behind you!"


	16. 16: Definitely not the right thing to do

**Sixteen: Definitely Not The Right Thing To Do.**

"There's a dragon right behind you!"

Hiccup froze at Astrid's words and his head swung round slowly, wide green eyes meeting the acid-green gaze of the black dragon he had previously met, the creature mere feet from him. This close-and not in terror of his life from the Jorgensens-he could see the smooth hide with little scales making faint patterns on the rounded, flattened snout, the black pupils wide and unthreatening. He could feel the huff of the creature's breath on his hand, almost see the creature inspecting him as closely as he was it.

"That's…a Night Fury…" Astrid breathed. "I'll get the swords…" His head snapped towards her.

"No," he said quietly, fixing her image in his memory. He had heard that those killed in battle took their last memories with them to Valhalla and he hoped it was true, because that would mean he could take the memory of Astrid with him. "No-you run when it attacks me, Astrid. I want you to get away. You are the hope for your family and you have people who love you." He paused. "No one will miss me-not really. So if I can delay it and let you get away, my life will have been well spent."

She stared at him, her jaw dropping in utter shock and horror at his emotionless acceptance of his death. She shook her head.

"I-I can't leave you," she said. "This was my fault, Hiccup. I brought you out here. I insisted in training you. I put our weapons away-and that allowed this monster to attack…" Hiccup turned back to the dragon and saw the dragon edging a little closer.

"Except he doesn't seem to be," Hiccup murmured. "I thought dragons were supposed to be mindless creatures, attacking anything in their way?" The dragon gave a small croon and the boy frowned. His hand hovered by his belt and suddenly the dragon growled. Automatically, he withdrew his hand and sneaked a look: his fingers had almost brushed his belt knife. Tacking a gamble, he unfastened his belt and tossed it aside, effectively disarming himself.

"What are you doing?" Astrid hissed, frozen.

"What are you still doing here?" Hiccup asked her in a loud whisper.

The dragon gave a little warble.

"I think he can hear us," Astrid noted. "I'm not leaving you! I can help you fight it off…"

"Astrid-it's not attacking me," Hiccup murmured, snatching a brief glance at the feisty young Shield Maiden. "It wasn't happy with my knife but now…it's kind of watching me…"

"Hiccup…" The boy sagged.

"Sorry. I don't know about dragons because we never really got them back home when I was growing up. And on Berserk and Meathead, I was chained up when there were raids so kind of missed them. So all I can do is what I am based on how I've observed animals behave…and this dragon is watching us. He looks…curious. And he did the same last time I saw him."

"You saw him before?" Astrid hissed, her eyes wide.

"Um…yeah, before that raid where the Jorgensens almost…well, caught me…" His voice was ashamed. The dragon gave a reassuring croon. Astrid tilted her head.

"Hmm…he does look…friendly," she murmured and then pulled herself up. "Why did I say that?"

"Because it's true," Hiccup sighed. "Look, I don't know what I'm supposed to do in this circumstance. I mean, literally nothing like this has ever happened to me-though knowing my luck, I'll probably be eaten and blamed for all this!" He dropped his head and extended his hand, palm-first, towards the dragon. "Look, he can check my scent and…if he does attack, _promise me_ you'll run…"

"Friends don't run out and leave friends," she said stubbornly and then her eyes widened. Hiccup stiffened-as he felt a pressure against his hand and he heard Astrid gasp. He stole a look-to see the dragon pressing his nose into Hiccup's hand, his eyes closed, giving a gesture of trust. Green eyes wide and face lit by a totally astonished smile, Hiccup turned slightly to the dragon as he opened his eyes and he ghosted his other hand to the warm, scaly muzzle, giving a tentative rub. The dragon gave a little croon and nuzzled harder against his hand.

"Unbelievable…" Astrid breathed as the dragon nuzzled against the boy's hand once more-and then pulled away. Hiccup was looking directly into the cute, puppyish eyes, the ear-flaps vertical making him look alert and friendly. Unable to stop himself, Hiccup smiled at the dragon and to his utter amazement, the dragon tilted his head, then opened his mouth, his lips and maw working into a weird but approximate smile. Hiccup grinned in shock as Astrid walked a little closer. Unwavering, Hiccup grasped her hand and offered it to the dragon and it obediently sniffed, then gave a little purr.

"I think he likes you," Hiccup commented lightly and the dragon gave a small warble. "I mean, I like you as well…" Astrid glanced at him-and smiled at the casual confidence in his tone, so different to his usual, defeated voice. The dragon widened his grin and Hiccup peered at the face. "Hmm…toothless…I could have sworn last time I saw you…"

Then a ferocious roar echoed through the little clearing and a huge and flaming Monstrous Nightmare erupted from the shadows, his acid-yellow eyes locked on the two teens, his pupils narrow vertical slits. With a snap, the black dragon's teeth appeared and he spun to face the approaching dragon, his back arched and wings half-unfurled. A growl vibrated through his throat. The teens backed away, realising the other dragon certainly wasn't friendly as the dragon turned his head, giving them one last look, his wide pupils almost pleading. His head jerked towards the forest and Hiccup nodded.

"Thank you, bud," he murmured. "Thank you. Be safe, okay?" And then he allowed Astrid to grab him and hauled him back as the black dragon flung itself upon the attacking Monstrous Nightmare and roars echoed through the trees. For a few long minutes, the two teens ran as fast as they could through the trees, until Astrid became aware that Hiccup was dropping back, panting hard so she slowed to ensure he wasn't alone. He staggered to a halt and leaned against a tree, panting for breath. Astrid stared at him.

"What-what was that?" she asked him in shock. "Did that dragon just befriend us-and protect us?" Hiccup looked up, still breathing hard.

"It certainly felt like it," he mumbled. "I mean, I probably did something wrong-but it wasn't threatening me-it was just watching and I guess…I guess I saw something of myself in his eyes…I was curious and so was he. And-and he didn't attack when he wasn't threatened. It just…seemed to be the right thing to do!"

Astrid stared at him and gave a bitter laugh.

"Oh, that definitely wasn't the right thing to do!" she told him bluntly. "Gods. Hiccup-if you tell anyone what you did, they'll cast you off the island…if you're lucky. They could just execute you as a traitor." He straightened up, his expression confused.

"Why?" he murmured. She shook her head and sighed.

"Because we have been at war with the dragons for three hundred years!" she told him simply. "They have killed hundreds of us…" Her voice tailed away and he suddenly looked stricken, recalling her words from earlier.

"Including your Uncle," he gasped. "Gods, Astrid…I am so sorry. You-you must hate me…" She took a shuddering breath and stared at him, his head down and shoulders suddenly slumped at the thought he had angered his only real friend. But for a moment with the dragon, there was the faintest glimpse of another Hiccup, a boy who had pieced together the tiny clues and what he could guess and recall and he had done what no one in her knowledge had ever done. He had been calm and decisive and brave and had thought about it _differently_. Astrid knew that on her own, she would have grabbed the sword and attacked…and died. Hiccup had read the situation and treated the creature with humanity-and they were both alive.

But he had been willing to sacrifice himself to save her, had been willing to die to let her get away because he had said-probably truthfully-that no one would really miss him.

 _Except me,_ she realised. _And probably the Chief, who has treated him as if he were his lost son. Gods, Stoick must NEVER know about this._

"I don't hate you, Hiccup," she said quietly. "I am amazed because you thought to do what I never would have. You saw that a dragon could be a friend, not an enemy. Of course, not all of them are-and that Monstrous Nightmare was certainly wanting to eat us…but the Night Fury defended us. He sent us to safety while he fought the other dragon to let us get away. He could have just flown away and left us…"

"He was our friend," Hiccup realised.

"He was your friend," Astrid corrected him. "He accepted me because you made him realise I was important to you-but he came to you. He…he bonded with you. And I never realised that would be possible!" Hiccup shrugged.

"Um…sorry," he mumbled, staring at the ground. Astrid caught his hand and squeezed.

"No, you don't understand," she told him urgently. "I have lived all my life in Berk. This Tribe has been here for three hundred years-and every building here is new. I have been woken regularly at night during raids, have seen neighbours and friends and family injured and burnt and killed and there will never be an end. We aren't winning. We've been looking for the nest for-for ever! And the dragons keep coming, keep taking, keep winning. So if we don't try something else, we will eventually be wiped out. And it took someone from outside to see it. It took you!"

He lifted his green eyes, staring into her face with the tiniest flash of hope.

"Really?" he murmured She nodded.

"Of course, we can't tell anyone-not even Stoick. Especially not Stoick," she amended. "No matter how fond he seems of you, Hiccup, he's obsessed with the dragons. When his wife and son died in childbirth, he has had nothing except the village and he will do everything to keep them safe." Hiccup nodded.

"Um…got it," he sighed and shivered. Astrid sighed.

"We ought to get back," she admitted. "It's very late-and we both need some rest. I'll come round in a couple of days for your next lesson…and maybe we can think more about that Night Fury and how this can help us." Hiccup gave her a quick hug, secretly delighted as she hugged him back.

"Thanks, Astrid. That means a lot," he sighed. Her hand grasped his as they walked almost to the edge of the village.

"You know I can't talk to you back in the village," she sighed, "but I promise I won't call you any names." He nodded.

"All I can hope for," he sighed as they sneaked back home.

oOo

He was exhausted the next morning, for though he had dropped off to sleep even as Astrid was probably still scrambling off the roof, it had been a very short night. But when Stoick bellowed, he scrambled wearily up and raced down the stairs, pulling his fur vest on. The Chief was already at the table, drinking his mug of ale and chewing his bread and dried mutton as Hiccup arrived, mumbling apologies. Stoick paused and rested his mug down, eyeing the weary shape carefully.

"Is everything alright, Hiccup?" he asked in a soft voice. "You're normally very prompt…" The boy started and he dropped his eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling ashamed. A tiny shiver of anxiety ran through him: was the Chief suspicious that he was slacking? But Stoick's next words made him relax slightly.

"Are you unwell?" he asked gently. "You look tired-and a little pale?" Hiccup shrugged.

"I didn't sleep well," he murmured. "Um…bad dreams…" The Chief's eyes narrowed, looking at the hunched little shape, eyes flicking over the bruises that the boy had managed to acquire.

"Is everything alright?" the Chief repeated. "In the village?" Hiccup looked up and sighed.

"I am very grateful for being allowed to stay," he said automatically, his words toneless.

"But…"

"But almost no one will speak to me and most of them think I will curse their weapons by touching them," he said in exasperation. "Sir-I don't know what _more_ I can do. No one will even give me a chance. Even-even in the whorehouse, the woman were kind and looked out for me because they could see I never wanted any of it. But here…there is nothing I can do which can overcome the wrongs which were done to me." He sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I know you are too busy to be bothered with such matters. All I want…is to be treated like everyone else…."

"But…"

"I'm not, am I?" he said quietly. "I am an outsider, a _slave_ …though they know not to say it aloud in your hearing…and a-a…" He paused and couldn't speak the word. "I don't know what to do," he murmured. Suddenly, Stoick moved, rising and wrapping an arm around the boy, hugging him close and feeling the thin body stiffen…then embrace him back.

"I can't change their minds and hearts," Stoick told him gently, feeling the warmth from the skinny shape seep into his body. He hadn't really hugged anyone since he lost his wife. "Only you can do that-by your actions, Hiccup. Be decent. Work hard. Defend the village. People will come round…slowly." He pushed Hiccup back, huge hands closing gently over his bony shoulders. Wide green eyes looked back at him, tugging at his memory. "Get to bed early tonight, Hiccup. There'll be a raid tonight or tomorrow and you certainly won't get a full night's sleep." The boy sighed.

"I guess," he said despondently. "So when the raid starts, I head down to help Gobber?" Stoick nodded.

"You'll be safe and you can serve the people," he said. "A Chief serves his people. No job is too small." Hiccup managed a wan smile.

"I just want you not to regret bringing me here," he admitted. Stoick's big face cracked into a smile.

"I won't," he said proudly and slammed his helmet on. "Work hard, son. I'll see you for the main meal?" Hiccup nodded.

"Just try to stop me," he said cheerfully and grabbed his breakfast.

oOo

The day was as expected-Vikings blanking him or cursing him if he reached for their precious weapon, in case he damaged it. And though each rejection hurt, he kept a small smile on his face and cheerfully did everything that Gobber asked him to, because the Chief's words were still rolling around his head. He could see, however, that Gobber was getting more and more upset that his apprentice was being so badly treated by the villagers. Astrid blanked Hiccup-as he had expected-but worse, Snotlout came to the forge to get his hammer checked over and he refused to let Hiccup go anywhere near the weapon.

"I don't want…that…anywhere near my weapon!" he said loudly. "I mean-why would I want to touch something that…slut…has pawed!" The twins sniggered as Hiccup backed away, fidgeting behind Gobber as the big two-limbed smith scowled.

"Probably cursed," Ruffnut whispered very loudly.

"Definitely," her brother agreed.

"The lad is very skilled," Gobber growled ferociously.

"You keep telling yourself that," Snotlout said and then he began laughing. "Or maybe you already know…?" Gobber's eyes narrowed.

"Yer got a nasty mouth on yer," the blacksmith sneered, lurching forward and jabbing the point of his hook into the boy's neck. "If yer say anything else, Stoick can start looking for a new Heir because I'll send yer tae Helheim!" Then he lifted the younger Jorgensen's hammer and handed it back.

"Hey-this hasn't been repaired!" Snotlout protested angrily.

"Too bad," the blacksmith said. "Yer didnae want my apprentice tae touch it-and I don't repair hammers any more. Yours is a weapon fer girls!" Snotlout glared at him-but bit back his retort because Gobber was in charge of Dragon Training-and antagonising the blacksmith could mean he was excluded from the class. He growled and stormed away, the twins casting deeply menacing looks at Hiccup and the boy sighed.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What are yer sorry for?" Gobber snapped. "Those evil little trolls think they can get away with saying whatever they want-but speaking against me or the Chief will get them into a whole Realm of trouble!"

"But I…" he began as Astrid and her father walked towards the forge and Spitelout began to stomp down towards them as well, his son in tow. Hiccup shrank back, seeing his friend's face carefully unfriendly and he sighed.

"What do you mean, not servicing my son's hammer?"

"I need my and Astrid's axes servicing now-by you not that slave!"

"I need a long holiday without yer mutton-headed lunatics bending me ear!" Gobber announced, waving his hook wildly.

"You're the village blacksmith!" Spitelout sneered. "You HAVE to look after everyone's weapons."

"No, I don't," Gobber told him bluntly. "Your weapons will be serviced if they come here but I will assign the work to whoever I decide. So if yer make conditions-or worse, yer insult me or my apprentice-yer can sharpen yer own weapons!"

"I will not have that…"

"Problems, Gobber?" a familiar gruff voice asked as Stoick arrived, his best axe in his hand. The blacksmith gave a wild grin.

"Nothing of any importance," he told his friend. "Can I help yer?"

"This man won't service our weapons!" Ivar Hofferson protested.

"Gobber has an apprentice who can ably…"

"I am not having any possession touched by that filthy little slave…" Ivar repeated furiously. "I have my honour and that of my daughter to protect and…"

"And Gobber refused to promise _he_ wouldn't touch my hammer either!" Snotlout protested. Stoick stared at them and recalled his words to Hiccup.

 _I can't change their minds and hearts. Only you can do that-by your actions._

"Gobber," he said with a small smile, "could you get Hiccup to sharpen my axe please?"

Every eye turned to the Chief and three jaws dropped. Astrid remained expressionless, her azure gaze watching the Chief closely as he easily handed his beloved axe over to Gobber. The smith smiled.

"Laddie-one premium service," he ordered and Hiccup carefully grabbed the axe, his knees almost buckling, before he carefully walked to the grindstone, checked the damage and began to expertly sharpen the edge.

"Are you insane?" Spitelout protested, incredulous. Almost shaking with anger, Stoick buried his reaction and forced a confident smile on.

"What? In getting my weapon serviced before the next raid?" he asked pleasantly. The screech of the grindstone against metal sounded as the auburn-haired teen carefully worked the edge to lethal sharpness. Satisfied, Hiccup lifted the axe, then lifted a rag and carefully polished the blade and handle before handing it back to the flame-haired Chief.

"There you are, sir," he said clearly. Stoick smiled at him, a quick wink unseen by the haranguing customers.

"Good Job! Thank you, son," he said clearly and walked off up the Plaza, his shining axe twirling in his hand. Gobber grinned.

"I'm nae working any more today," he announced. "So you either accept Hiccup servicing your weapons or you do it yourself." There was a pause and Snotlout angrily handed his hammer over-but Ivar grabbed Astrid's arm and hauled her away. With a sigh, the young man dragged Snotlout's heavy weapon to the anvil to begin a routine service, his emerald gaze trailing off up the Plaza at the blonde shape. Even though he knew she would talk to him when they were alone, her father's intransigence hurt. Then a yell from Snotlout pulled him back to the present and he turned to his work.

oOo

The sound of a horn jolted him awake and he sat up in utter shock, emerald eyes wide and scared. The door slammed as Stoick raced down and he realised that they were under attack: it was a Dragon Raid.

He leapt up, grabbing his vest and hauling his boots on, then racing to the door, opening it-to face a flaming Monstrous Nightmare. With a yelp he slammed the door closed as a wall of flame hammered against it, feeling the wood shudder and the fierce scorch of heat through the wood. Then he pulled it open, emerging and tossing the bucket of water placed ready by the door over the flaming wood, before turning and racing down the hill.

It was chaos. Vikings were fighting dragons everywhere, curses and bodies flying from all sides. Hiccup was slammed aside and knocked over twice by fighting Vikings who just scowled at him or shouted at him to get out of their way. Cringing, he scrambled up, dodging through the villagers as he scampered down the stairs to the Plaza. Overhead, the huge torches were lifted, the flames illuminating the swarm of dragons swirling and circling over the village. Houses were already burning and he snatched a worried glance at the fire crew, seeing Astrid in the thick of the action, shouting orders as they quenched another blaze. Then a huge hand snagged his tunic and dragged him back a few inches from a blast of flame that would have killed him. He glanced up and met Stoick's concerned eyes.

"Be careful, son," the Chief warned him sternly and Hiccup nodded, breathing hard in shock.

"Yes, sir," he gulped and raced down the last part of the Plaza to the forge, ducking in and sighing in relief. Gobber looked up, already hammering away at a bent sword. Of course, living in a house attached to the forge, he had almost no distance to go when a Raid started.

"Good of you to join us," the blacksmith teased him, his voice warm. Hiccup managed to quirk a smile, shrugging out of his fur vest and dragging his leather apron on.

"Well, I guessed you may need a hand?" he quipped and Gobber snorted in amusement, his hook prosthetic replaced by a hammer for the raid.

"I thought ye may have been carried off by a Terrible Terror," he replied. Hiccup frowned.

"Are those the really small ones?" he asked, still not familiar with dragon types and Gobber nodded, his hammer clanging again.

"Aye," he confirmed.

"They wouldn't know what to do with all this…raw Vikingness?" Hiccup suggested playfully, bending his arms to demonstrate his impressive lack of muscles. Gobber chuckled. They had been playing insults for the last few days and Hiccup's quick and sarcastic wit was something the big blacksmith felt needed developing as much as his smithing ability and his confidence.

"Well they need toothpicks, don't they?" Gobber riposted. Hiccup grinned.

"Sorry, I got nothing," he apologised and the smith grinned in delight at his victory in the verbal battle.

"Yer know, I am really liking that wit," he commented, tossing the repaired sword aside as his assistant shoved three more into the fire and jumped up and down to work the bellows. "Yer developing nicely, lad. I'll make a Hooligan of yer yet!" Hiccup sighed, his optimism evaporating. He seriously doubted that.

"Yeah," he murmured, turning to the hatch and Gobber cursed as the lad grabbed the proffered weapons. He swiftly handed out replacements and the blacksmith noted that no one was refusing a weapon from the boy now, in the heat of battle. Gobber watched him professionally grab the next damaged sword, grasp it by the hilt with a leather glove and begin hammering it back into shape, his eyes focussed on the red-hot metal.

"Hey! I need bolas!" a voice shouted and Gobber growled in frustration, then grabbed a pair and tossed them to the impatient Viking, accidentally knocking him unconscious. Hiccup dug the sword back into the fire and scampered to the hatch, handing out another couple of axes and then gazing across the Plaza to see the fire crew in action. The twins, Snotlout and Fishlegs tackled a blaze while Astrid finished it off and for a moment, her azure gaze met his-before a screech alerted her and she turned. The fire crew were being surrounded by a gang of Nadders, their spines raised and eyes narrowed. Astrid snatched her axe off her back and the others shrank back, unarmed.

"RUN!" she shouted as she swiped at the dragons, her axe batting one back. The others closed on the trapped teens. Horrified, Hiccup grabbed a sword and dashed for the door as Gobber glanced up.

"Where're ye going?" he shouted to the retreating figure and then he saw where the boy was heading. 'Oh Thor-that boy just doesn't know how not to get himself into trouble," he groaned to himself, ripping out his hammer prosthetic and replacing it with an axe, then grabbing another axe in his real hand and galloping into the fray as best he could.

Hiccup danced through the Nadders, shouting and waving a sword fiercely. The sudden unexpected attack had them squawking and scattering enough for the others to make a break for it. But Astrid gave a cry as a Nadder battered her aside and Hiccup charged it, screaming and hacking at the dragon, hitting precisely nothing. The dragon hissed and batted him aside with its tail, landing hard. Astrid scrambled to grab her axe and he scrabbled for his sword as the dragons closed around them.

"Well, this was a spectacularly badly thought-out rescue," Astrid told him, her eyes locked on the Nadders.

"Sorry," he murmured. She stole a glance at him as he managed to get up into a crouch by her side. She flicked a brief look at his ashen face.

"You know, the others ran but you came to help," she said softly. "If this is the end, there is no one I would rather be with."

A flicker of warmth ran through his chest and a small smile lifted his lips.

"I'd still rather I was here alone," he said softly, his eyes scanning the area. The village was being raided severely and everyone was busy with their own battles: no one would help them. They were on their own. "There's only one thing left to try." So he dropped his sword, gently rose to his feet and cautiously extended his hand, walking slowly towards the nearest Nadder…


	17. Chapter 17: He should be put to death

**Seventeen: He should be put to death**

Hiccup dropped his sword, gently rose to his feet and cautiously extended his hand, walking slowly towards the nearest Nadder, which squawked and advanced on him. He started up into the acid yellow eyes, seeing the black vertical pupils shrunken into slits and forced the tension from his skinny shape. He could hear Astrid breathing behind him as the Nadders advanced and he stared fearlessly into the ferocious glare.

"If they attack me, Astrid," he said calmly, "please run for it. Please escape." Her breathing accelerated and almost hitched.

"Hiccup…I…" Her hand was still tight around the haft of her axe but he took a deep breath.

"Drop the axe and prepare to run…please," he begged her, never taking his eyes from the dragon's face. "If this works, you can get away…"

"This is insane!" she breathed. "Just because you…" And it struck her. "Touched a Night Fury…"

He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, extending his hand and expecting to feel teeth slice into his arm. He was almost trembling but knew he had to project a calm he certainly didn't feel, his heart galloping in his chest. He felt a huff of hot breath on his arm, heard the creak of the leather skin and muscles as the dragon shifted…and then he felt pressure against his palm, the warm scaly skin strangely smooth. He stiffened and opened his eyes to see the dragon's nose calmly pressed into his hand. The pupils were wider and calm, the dragon crooning. Almost shaking, Hiccup's mouth curved up in a shocked smile.

"Hey," he murmured softly. "Um…thanks for not eating me…"

The other Nadders hissed and cawed and the now-friendly dragon pulled away, hissing back, flapping its wings and starting to drive them away. Astrid stared up at him in shock and the boy shrugged.

"Go," he mouthed and she paused…then grabbed her axe and sprinted away. The Nadders were dancing around one another and Hiccup backed away from the skirmish-and then he heard the screams and roars as a handful of Vikings came racing forward. His head snapped round and then he turned to his friendly Nadder, seeing its blue and gold wings flapping. "GO!" he shouted waving his arms and it looked at him-then saw the approaching Vikings. Instantly, the pupils slitted, the spines raised and its hissed-but it launched urgently into the dark sky, the orange light of the fires casting eerie shadows over the village. The other Nadders fled as well as the solid shapes of adult Vikings approached, weapons raised to chase off the marauding beasts-and Hiccup sagged in relief-as a staff crashed across his head. Vision spinning and greying rapidly, he felt himself slam to the floor, almost as if it was happening to someone else. An unfamiliar voice echoed through his fading consciousness.

"'E were strokin' that dragon! 'E's a traitor! And 'e should put ter death!"

And then it all went black.

oOo

He awoke slowly, his head hurting from the blow and everything stiff from where he had been lying. He gave a low whine of pain and his hand drifted to the throbbing point on his head, feeling a large lump. And then he slowly opened his eyes-to find himself in a cell.

His eyes snapped wide and his breathing accelerated in fear. He tried to push himself up to his knees but his head spun and he collapsed, closing his eyes against the persistent dizziness. He groaned and curled up, breathing raggedly. He was cold and aching and suddenly very afraid. There was no sign of the Chief and the boy realised he had probably ruined his relationship-such as it was-with the huge man. And that hit him harder than the blow, the sudden loss of the person he had begun to unwillingly trust and care for-love, for want of a better word-as the father he never had. So he curled up, a hand pressed hard onto the lump on his skull and lay hopeless and miserable, scared what would happen next. Because the voice had called him a traitor…and called for his execution.

Two large Vikings that Hiccup had seen sitting with the Chief in the Great Hall entered the jail some indeterminate time later and the boy stiffened and scooched back as far as he could get in the cell, his skinny shape pressed hard into the corner with knees drawn up to his chest. They glared at him and he hunched up even smaller, eyes wide with fear as the door of the cell was wrenched open and they entered.

"On your feet, slave!" the larger man said, his long blonde beard rippling as he growled. Hiccup nodded, not even bothering to argue. Every tiny scrap of confidence he may have garnered had vanished completely, leaving him in the panicked and terrified state he had been in as he escaped from Sundby and the whorehouse. Wearily, he levered himself up to his shaky feet and he flinched as he was grabbed, rough hands painfully tight around his skinny arms. His head dipped in fear and he just allowed himself to be hauled out into the dreary grey morning on Berk, the drizzle on the cold breeze stinging his pale skin. Emerald eyes trailed over the village, seeing scorch marks from the raid, some houses reduced to scarred skeletons or damaged beyond habitation. Vikings were all working, trying to salvage what they could or start some tentative construction work to repair the uninhabitable houses before the weather worsened. But every eye turned on the skinny shape of the prisoner as he was escorted from he jail at the bottom of the village all the way up the hill and further up the very long stair to the Great Hall, built into the side of the pinnacle that formed the upper village.

A hand planted in his mid-back and he stumbled, almost falling. There were sniggers and he saw the twins laughing at his disgrace with Fishlegs at their side-though the larger boy looked shocked, not scornful. Espen, Ove and Jorn were all whispering and pointing at him, clearly exchanging the Viking equivalent of 'I told you so'. Astrid stood with her family, pale and withdrawn, though her father had an especially unpleasant expression on his face. Eva was pulling towards Hiccup but their mother lifted the protesting little girl in her arms and took her back into the house, even as she was starting to cry and ask why her friend was in trouble.

Heart shuddering in misery-because the Vikings all looked at him as if he was a dead man walking-he began the long walk up the steps, until they finally reached the doors of the Great Hall. Behind him, half the village was following, silently walking to witness what was to come. Trembling hard, he glanced back and whimpered, before he was thrust through the doors and led up to the table placed in front of the great fire pit. And seated at the table was the Council of the Hooligan Tribe-the group of people that would decide his fate. He was shoved to stand on his own and the two warriors withdrew, leaving his skinny dishevelled fate facing his fate.

Stoick was sitting in the middle of the Council, his shape upright and stiff, his face grave. Hiccup's shoulders hunched as he saw the man's face, guessing he had shamed the man beyond repairing and he guessed it was over. Astrid had warned him and he had ignored her-because he had to do something to save her. And he had been willing to give his life to get her away…so at least this was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. Except it just seemed unfair when he had gotten her away with no loss of life. And who had he harmed?

Gobber was sitting at his side, his face worried and disappointed. He knew the man had been so kind and enthusiastic in teaching Hiccup and his loss as apprentice was a blow. Hiccup sighed: he loved smithing and Gobber's company and tuition had been some of his happiest moments of Berk. But beside him sat Spitelout and the boy shuddered, seeing the cruel triumph in his eyes at seeing the instrument of his disgrace meet his doom. Snotlout sat at his side. On the other side of Stoick sat a hunched, wizened old woman with a squint and a long thin grey braid. She waved her staff and scowled at the Chief. Beyond her were a very short and hairy man with a pleasant and amiable face and a bald man with sticking out ears and a mildly discontented expression.

An old man was standing to one side, his wild hair sticking out to the side of his face, his large, sharp nose topped by mean eyes and a helmet with several spikes on. He was waving a staff and Hiccup realised in shock that this was the person who had knocked him senseless after the raid. Behind him, he heard murmurs and the shuffling of feet as the village filed in to watch what seemed to be a trial.

"I don't know why yer bothering with all this!" the old man whined in a mean, grating voice. "That…is a traitor as well as a slave and an affront to Thor. It should be killed immediately before it brings the wrath of Thor on us!"

There were murmurs behind Hiccup and his head bowed further. It seemed it didn't take much to sway the village. He hoped there wasn't a general vote for his fate because if so, he was already dead.

"I don't presume to know Thor's mind-so maybe you shouldn't either, Mildew!" Stoick said in a cold voice. _Mildew? What kind of name was that?_ Hiccup blinked. The old man leered at the words, unconcerned.

"That was the worst raid for months-and it can only be because we have accepted a slave in our midst…" he began but the short, hairy man raised his hand.

"There are many Tribes that have slaves and they have far fewer raids, Mildew," he said, his softly accented voice worried. "So it cannot be due to him the raid was bad. We have known for years, they vary. This was just a bad raid."

"Thank you, Mulch!" Stoick said in a slightly less irritated voice. "If you have an accusation against the boy, Mildew, you make it!" The old man scowled, the expression so unpleasant Hiccup was sure it could curdle milk.

"Then I shall!" he sneered. "I saw it with me own eyes! That boy walked up to a dragon and petted it on the snout! 'E were friends with the dragon. So he must be callin' then down onto us! 'E's causin' the raids!"

There was a pause-and then Stoick and the Council all burst out laughing. Mildew slammed his staff onto the stone floor, his face twisted in a look of hatred.

"There have been raids on Berk ever since we sailed here, three hundred years ago!" Gobber pointed out scornfully.

"The idea one bed slave from the mainland could be calling them on us is utterly stupid!" Spitelout added. "Even one as lazy and ruined as that…thing…"

There was a creak as Stoick's fists tightened, his expression murderous. His freezing glare finally turned on Hiccup and the boy felt his heart drop to his boots, sensing rejection in the cold stare.

"I saw 'im walk up to a dragon and touch it!" Mildew shouted. "That is treason 'E was consorting with a dragon. And our laws are very clear!"

Every eye turned accusingly onto the boy and Hiccup lifted his face, green eyes wide with anxiety and fear. His face was pale between the bruises and he looked cowed.

"Is that true?" Stoick asked him in a stern voice and the boy nodded, then dropped his head.

"I-I had to…" he mumbled. There were the hisses of gasps and Stoick frowned, inspecting the skinny shape with concern. Hiccup was curled in on himself, all evidence of the gently growing confidence gone. He was trembling and Stoick knew in his heart that the boy wasn't a traitor or evil: he was just Hiccup…which seemed to mean being in the wrong place at the wrong time and ending up doing exactly the wrong thing.

"But why?" he asked softly. "Hiccup-please tell me. Why?"

"Does it matter?" Mildew sneered. "'E's confessed ter the crime. We should take 'im out and kill 'im before 'e brings the wrath of Thor down on us!"

" _Be. Silent!_ " the Chief growled. "This boy is facing death and you won't even allow him to speak!"

"Why should we listen to his treason?" Mildew snarked and there were murmurings from the crowd that rapidly quietened as the Chief rose slowly, his massive shape towering over the rest of the Council. He walked heavily round and came to face the bowed shape, gently resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Hiccup flinched.

"Hiccup-please tell me why you touched that dragon," Stoick asked him huskily. "You must know it's wrong…" The briefest of flicks up by the shamed emerald eyes caused the Chief to frown.

"I-I had to," he murmured softly.

"Why?"

There was a pause and the boy swallowed, his pale throat bobbing nervously.

"Because we were going to be killed," he admitted. "Astrid was in trouble-she was surrounded by dragons-those spiky bird ones-and she had lost her axe. I-I ran to help her and….um, well, that didn't really work." There was a ripple of scornful laughter led by Snotlout and the twins at his ashamed words that quietened when Stoick glared at the crowd.

"Go on…" the Chief said. Hiccup chanced a look up.

"And I knew we were going to die so I thought…I thought maybe I could manage to calm them enough to let Astrid get away at least," he murmured. There were gasps.

"But they're dragons!" came a voice from the crowd. Hiccup thought it sounded like Gustav.

"They're animals," he said more firmly, lifting his wary gaze to look into the Chief's grim face. "And-and I've dealt with lots of animals when I was a slave on Meathead. I spent months looking after everything they had, working from dawn to dusk, slaving in the fields and the pens and the stalls and even in the slaughterhouses…wherever they thought they could use me. So I-I wondered if I could calm them enough…" He shrugged hopelessly.

"But they're dragons! They can't be calmed!" came another voice from the crowd.

"Um…sorry…but I did calm one of them…and if they hadn't been startled, I-I think we might have gotten away…" Hiccup mumbled self-consciously.

"But our laws state you can't touch them!" Mildew protested angrily.

"Where?" Gobber asked thoughtfully, rubbing his big chin. "Don't ever recall that-and we touch 'em all the time, when we wrestle them and kill them. And when we dismember the corpses to dispose of them. And of course during Dragon Training…"

"But you can't just touch them like…that!" Mildew shouted in an outraged voice. "It goes against everything we know!"

"Maybe…that's the problem," Mulch said thoughtfully. The small, very hairy round man had a soft, pleasantly-accented voice and a determinedly amiable face. "We all know dragons can't be trained because we've been fighting them for three hundred years!"

"They've killed hundreds of us!" Spitelout pointed out.

"And in return, we've killed thousands of them," Mulch retorted. "We know they are dangerous wild beasts because that's what we're taught and believe and see."

"Because it's the truth!" Ivar Hofferson yelled.

"No, it's what we've always been taught," the bald-headed man commented suddenly. There was an abrupt silence as every stared at him and a hundred jaws dropped.

"Silent Sven…did you just speak?" Gobber asked the man obviously. The bald man nodded, his jug ears waggling slightly as he nodded vigorously.

"Mulch and me are both herders," he reminded them in a curiously high-pitched and rather grating voice. "I have my sheep-and Mulch has yaks and sheep-as well as a couple of chickens. And we all know animals can be tamed and trained using skill and patience."

"But they're dragons!" That was Alva's voice. "They can't be trusted!"

 _Nor can you,_ Hiccup thought aimlessly, staring into the Chief's eyes. The cool grey-green gaze was very thoughtful as he listened to the discussion and then turned back to the boy.

"Um…sorry," Hiccup said quietly. "But I wasn't brought up on Berk and I didn't know you weren't supposed to touch dragons and…well, it was the last chance I had before being killed so I either tried to save us…well, Astrid, to be honest…or we both died…"

"See? 'E admits it!" Mildew protested, his staff swinging dangerously close to Hiccup's head. The boy flinched. "'E admits 'is crime! Take 'im to the Plaza. We'll Blood Eagle him!"

And in that horrible moment, as he knew he was going to be killed, to be executed for finally doing something right and definitely behaving like a Viking, a voice rang out.

"Stop! You can't do that!" It was Astrid. "If you kill him, you have to kill me to-because he saved my life!"


	18. Chapter 18: For His Life

**A/N: And today is the anniversary of posting this story-which I will finish (just slowly). Enjoy.**

 **Eighteen: For His Life**

"Stop! You can't do that!" It was Astrid. "If you kill him, you have to kill me to-because he saved my life!" The clear female voice rang through the Great Hall and every eye turned onto the slender blonde shape of Astrid as she pulled away from her father. His hand snatched her arm tightly and she hissed with pain as she struggled-to no avail.

"Be silent, girl!" her father ordered her but she shook her head.

"I am not going to stand by and allow someone who risked his life for me-twice, at least-to be executed when I should speak up!" she replied calmly, teeth gritted against the pain. "I am a Hofferson and we are fearless. I am not afraid of you, sir. Not when shaming our family honour and affronting Lord Odin would be worse. Hiccup saved my life! He rushed in to help me when the others ran and when we were trapped, he approached the closest dragon to try to calm it down, to allow me to get away."

"Preposterous!" Mildew sneered.

"I-I'm sorry," Hiccup blurted out, his eyes wide with anxiety. "I-I didn't mean to upset anyone…I-I just didn't want to be killed…"

 _Of course, we can't tell anyone-not even Stoick. Especially not Stoick. No matter how fond he seems of you, Hiccup, he's obsessed with the dragons. When his wife and son died in childbirth, he has had nothing except the village and he will do everything to keep them safe._

The Chief stared at him, saw the desperation in the green eyes and through his bubbling anger at the apparent transgression, he recalled the boy had been on Berk for a few weeks only. And during that time, no one else had made the boy welcome and absolutely no one had taken the time to explain about life on Berk. It was clear that Snotlout, his Heir, had signally failed in his duty to orientate the newcomer to Berk life and custom and his family likewise. Stoick was too busy and no one else had been asked or wanted to have anything to do with the outsider. Even Astrid Hofferson, who had seemed so friendly, was apparently forbidden to have anything to do with Hiccup.

And yet…the boy had done what no one else had, in calming a dragon. Maybe it was a complete one-off…but it was something unique and different in Berk and maybe, it offered the tiniest chink of hope. Because, Gods knew, they _needed_ it. And if there was another way to deal with them that didn't automatically involve fires and death, then Stoick was desperate enough to explore it. He still sought the nest because there had to be a final answer to the raids…but Mulch made a good point. The outsider had seen what no one had considered because he wasn't of Berk and had approached the problem using his own experience with animal husbandry. And it had worked…until the dragons had been charged by armed Vikings.

 _They've killed hundreds of us._

 _And in return, we've killed thousands of them._

 _If you keep fighting, there will continue to be casualties,_ the Chief realised, staring at the young man in front of him. He tightened his grasp carefully on the bony shoulder, feeling the boy trembling under his soft touch. _He didn't know it was wrong…and he did spare the girl. Five Nadders should have killed them in seconds-but he managed to keep them distracted long enough to be rescued._

"I'm sorry," Hiccup whispered. "I didn't want to disappoint you…but I couldn't let Astrid die."

And the tone of his voice opened another knot of problems. There was a faint yearning that told the perceptive Chief of growing affection for the lass who was already targeted by Snotlout as his future mate-though Stoick would do all in his power to prevent _that_ appalling match. Yet Astrid's father would veto any friendship, let alone more, between the shamed boy and his precious older daughter…and that would deal Hiccup yet another wound he didn't deserve.

"You did not commit treason!" the Chief announced. "You acted in the way you thought would save the life of another Hooligan. You were successful. And your lack of upbringing here and knowledge of our customs meant that you had no clue that some would take such exception to your actions, Hiccup."

"This is a disgrace-and yer know it, Stoick!" Mildew sneered, approaching and waving his staff threateningly. In an instant, the Chief was on his feet, towering over the old man and shoving him back, his face reddening with anger at the sedition.

"You threaten me, you go against me once more, Mildew, and I'll cast you out to sea for the Scauldrons to feast on!" the Chief snarled. The room fell silent and Spitelout, who had opened his mouth to join the protests, snapped it shut and sat down immediately. There was the sharp bang of a staff and the old woman shuffled forward, glaring at the unpleasant Mildew.

"What yer want, Gothi?" the old man sneered as Stoick bowed his head slightly in respect. Without pausing, she slammed her staff into Mildew's face and knocked him sideways to gasps and sniggers. She glared at the old man…then peered into the bowed face of the young man. Her claw-like finger pointed at him and then she nodded. Then she turned and began to scratch the end of her staff on the floor. Gobber signed and reluctantly lumbered up to peer at the marks on the floor.

"She's mumbling again," he grumbled. "Scratch clearly, ye old bat!" Without hesitation, she whacked him on the head and he yelped. The old woman scratched more deliberately on the floor and Gobber peered at the marks. To Hiccup, they appeared to be just random scratches but clearly they had some meaning because the blacksmith nodded thoughtfully. "She says the boy has not committed treason. He has done nothing but protect a friend by whatever means he could. He saved the life of a Hooligan. And he may have discovered something else that could be used to prevent theft of our food and deaths among the tribe."

Gothi-clearly the Elder, since she looked thirty years older than anyone else present, at the very least-scratched another line. Gobber's eyes widened. "Really?" She nodded.

"What?" Stoick asked impatiently. Gobber's unibrow waggled.

"She says," he began portentously, "he has a density!"

There was a resounding silence.

"What?"

Gothi hit the blacksmith in the head while she rolled her eyes in exasperation. She slammed her staff on the line and underlined the last few scratches.

"Destiny? Are you sure? because it looks like…" Gobber protested and earned another whack in the head. "Okay. The boy has a destiny. He is crucial to the future of the Tribe. And Mildew is a yak-faced troublemaker!" Mildew snorted in anger but Gothi gave a very crooked grin and everyone knew that was exactly what she had written. The old man glared at everyone present and then waved his bony fist under Hiccup's nose.

"I've got me eye on yer yer little bastard!" he sneered and stomped out, shoving his way through the crowd. "Gerrout me way!" he muttered as he elbowed Vikings aside. There was an audible sigh of relief as he left and Hiccup hesitantly looked up into the Chief's face. He was still expecting rejection and wondered if he could sleep in the back of the forge-though he would probably freeze to death in the depths of winter…

"Hiccup?" The Chief's voice was soft and the boy steeled himself for more bad news. "Are you alright, son?" Trembling, Hiccup nodded automatically but the huge man gently rested his hand on the boy's head and tilted it, peering down on the lump on the back of the boy's head, blood smeared amid his tousled auburn hair. "Gothi-I would be grateful if you would have look?" The old woman immediately hobbled forward and poked the injury.

"Owww!" Hiccup yelped, trying to pull away. Stoick gave a small smile.

"So not actually okay," he surmised and smiled, wrapping arm arm round the skinny shoulders. "Come on, Hiccup. Let's get you home and then the Elder can treat that bump!"

"H-home?" Hiccup gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "I-I thought you-you wouldn't want me there anymore…" The Chief gave a sad look and wrapped a strong embrace round the bruised young man, feeling him curl against his massive chest. A hand tousled the hair very gently.

"It's your home too," he whispered. "And I'm not giving up on you yet." Hiccup's skinny arms wound around the Chief and his shoulders shook. Stoick leaned close, his lips an inch from the boy's ear. "I promised to protect you, Hiccup. And I will do that. Trust me."

 _We can't tell anyone-not even Stoick._

"Thank you," the boy whispered, shaking as the Council dispersed and the villagers filed out. There were an array of unfriendly or suspicious looks cast in his direction as well as a couple of interested or hopeful ones-especially from Fishlegs. Astrid had been shepherded away by Ivar before anyone else got a chance to leave and the boy hoped she would be safe: her father had looked mad and he wondered if he could ask the Chief to intercede on her behalf. But right now, he just wanted to get home and feel safe once more. And as they walked out of the door, the powerful shape at his side, he allowed himself to imagine he was with his family and going back home.

oOo

He was curled in his bed, extra furs wrapped around his skinny shape and a poultice applied to the horrible lump on the back of his head. The Chief had ensured the boy finished two bowls of thick chicken and cabbage soup and bread and had then put him to bed-so Hiccup was warm and fed and able to think over what had happened. And he was honestly shocked that he was still alive and his head was spinning that he had even dared try to train a dragon during a raid when the other Vikings could watch him. And the Chief hadn't killed him outright, which he had resigned himself to while lying curled up in that cold little cell. Stoick had even continued to treat him like a son, caring for him as he hadn't been for years.

He knew he had to see the black dragon again.

He rolled slightly onto his right shoulder and stared up at the ceiling. When he had first encountered the Night Fury dragon, he had expected to die…but the dragon had saved him from Snotlout and Spitelout, at least temporarily. And when they had met again…the feeling of the dragon's warm snout pressed against his hand had shot a sensation of warmth and belonging that had made him feel as if he was flying. And the dragon had accepted Astrid, had been friendly to her which had made him believe it wasn't a fluke but some fundamental truth about dragons that had emboldened him enough to try the insane risk he took to save her life-almost at the cost of his own.

But there were a lot of people who seemed utterly resistant to the concept of befriending dragons as a way to avoid the carnage of the raids. The old man Mildew was clearly wedded to his identity as a dragon fighter-which Stoick had explained to him over the stew. Mildew had buried three wives and had a very poor cabbage farm the other side of the mountain: he was universally despised but he excelled at stirring up trouble-and he always sought the soft target. Unfortunately, he was skilled rabble-rouser…and his beady eye had settled firmly on Hiccup.

About half the village had looked at him as if he had suggested some very inappropriate action with a sheep and he guessed they wouldn't be amenable to trying anything other than the old ways. Hiccup hadn't even considered broaching the subject with the Chief himself because he trusted Astrid's judgement and if she said he was never going to change, then that was how it was. He blinked and sighed. He missed having someone to talk to-and even a few days of Astrid's friendship made his usual despised and isolated state worse.

Then the hatch opened and he tensed, shoving himself upright because he was scared that Snotlout would come for him…but the familiar lithe shape of Astrid landed on his bed as he sat up-and then gaped.

There was bruising on her cheek and her eyes looked…shamed. Instantly guilt crashed around him and he recoiled, drawing his knees up to his chest and dropping his head in shame. He had damaged her by being…well, alive, probably. He wrapped his arms around his legs and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said as an opening gambit, his entire stomach clenched in guilt. Her head snapped up, azure eyes blazing with anger-but after a crowded moment, he realised it was not directed at him.

"Why?" she said more sharply than she had intended. "You saved my life, Hiccup. I said there was no one I would rather be with in that moment and I meant it. You stopped them killing us. You saved our lives. And I truly believe that had you not been interrupted, you could have managed to get them to go of their own accord!"

He blushed and stared at the furs, a hand trailing down to twist the hairs aimlessly. He managed a shrug. "Doubt it," he mumbled. "I guess whatever reason they were there would have come back to them and then they would have eaten me." She sat back on her heels a mere foot or so from him and sighed.

"Doubt it," she reminded him. "They probably needed more than a canapé." A small smile twitched his mouth.

"They had you as well," he reminded her softly. She swatted his shoulder.

"I was out of there," she reminded him.

"Thanks for speaking up for me," he managed seriously. "I-I think it actually made all the difference." She stared at him and then gave a huge sigh.

"You're welcome," she said tonelessly. "It made a difference to me as well. My father thinks I am spoiled by associating with you. That my honoured weapons prowess is ruined because I had to saved by the shamed boy from the whorehouse who can't even wave a sword properly. So he wants to remove me from Dragon Training and get me married to whoever will take me. He said…" Her voice thickened with misery. "He said that if I wanted to be friends with a whore, I should be one myself." He swallowed. "I've done everything he wanted, Hiccup. I know he wanted a son and for years and years, he thought I was to be their only child. So he drove me to become the best warrior I could be. He wanted me to become a Shield Maiden…I thought to protect Berk but now, it seems, to drive up my bride price. And just as I am getting close to realising my dream, he snatches it away on a whim!"

Tears trickled down her face and instinctively, he inched forward and wrapped his skinny arms around her, hugging her tightly. He felt her face bury in her neck and the damp of her tears on his skin.

"That's not fair," he said angrily. "You are the best warrior-and the best person in this village-except the Chief-yet you're treated so badly for speaking the truth and saving my life."

"That's my sin," she sighed. "My father wants you gone: preferably dead but at least off Berk. And nowhere near me." He hugged her tightly.

"That ship has sailed," he sighed. "Look-can't we get the Chief to insist you go on Dragon Training? You're a great warrior and Berk needs everyone they can get! Your father is depriving the village of a valuable resource!" She pulled back and stared into his face.

"Resource? _That's_ where you're going?" she asked him in surprise. He nodded, looking embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Um…a bit low on ideas," he admitted. "But I will ask the Chief to make sure you are in Dragon Training-and not sanction any marriage….for now." She stared into his face.

"That's…" she began and then paused. He was skinny and battered, an outsider and generally ostracised yet he was willing to ask the only person who was kind to him to intervene in his behalf…even though he guessed it may get him into trouble. "That's very sweet," she admitted.

"Um…you're my only friend…well, Fishlegs may be as well," he confessed. "And I would do anything to help you…" There was a sigh and he stared into her face. "He hit you, didn't he?" She nodded.

"I couldn't let him hit my Mom when she stood up for me," Astrid said tonelessly. "It was my decision, my action-and I take responsibility." He immediately looked incredibly guilty and ran his hands miserably through his hair.

"It's all my fault!" he groaned. "If you had just let me accept my fate, you would be safe…"

"And you would be dead!" she argued. "Thor, I couldn't allow that!" She paused. "Because you have done something amazing…something at no one on Berk thought of for three hundred years! And even I can see that it could be the difference between us losing and us surviving!"

"Maybe it was a fluke!" he muttered despondently and she punched him gently in the shoulder.

"And maybe it wasn't," she replied. "Hiccup…tomorrow night, we have to get back out there are see that Night Fury." The she sighed and rose, peering up at the hatch. "And I guess I better go back," she said in a dull voice.

"You-you could stay!" he blurted out before he could stop himself…and she turned her head to inspect him, a small smile on her face.

"Now that really would send my reputation to Helheim," she smirked and he flushed bright scarlet with shame…but she stood up and slammed the hatch closed. "And I really don't care," she revealed, dropping to her knees by him. "I'm not going back tonight. Gods, I nearly died this morning and all my father cares about is that my reputation and saleability may have been impaired because I was saved by you! Not that I am alive or that I spoke up for the truth-just that I may have ruined his twisted plan!"

"Um…it's not too late," he reminded her but she grabbed a couple of furs and lay down beside him, snuggling up close. Warily, he lay down beside her, facing her. His emerald gaze trailed over the bruise on her face and guilt stabbed his heart once more. "I really am sorry," he murmured. She snuggled against him, wrapped chastely in separate furs as he fidgeted close.

"Mutton-head," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I would rather be here than home, fearing him. I would rather be with the friend who saved my life than the man who sees me only as a possession to be sold." He closed his eyes as well as her breathing deepened.

A little later, Stoick walked up to check on Hiccup-and found the blonde curled up by his small sleeping shape, a little smile curling her lips. Both were securely wrapped separately in furs and he sighed, realising it would cause more complications for the boy.

"Wrong place at the wrong time doing exactly the wrong thing," he sighed, retrieving another fur and tucking it gently over both the teens. "I heard your problems, lass-and I'll make sure you do your Dragon Training. It's the least I can do for you for everything you've done for Hiccup."

And then he gently blew out the candle, leaving the darkness to wrap around the two youngsters. There would be enough trouble in the morning-so tonight, he would allow them some peace.


End file.
